The Punisher: Wrath of Jigsaw
by Graver7
Summary: Jigsaw has the city in a grip of terror and some of the Punisher's deadliest foes are banding together to bury him for good. Takes place in a whole new Punisher universe.
1. Prologue

THE PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

Prologue

Hoppe's No. 9 was one of those scents that never failed to bring back memories. It was so much more pleasant than clouds of burning gunpowder, so much less intrusive than the scent of blood. It was an odor that was inexorably linked to every shooter's workbench.

He hadn't hunted in almost six months, but the old habits died hard.

He still shot and cleaned the guns he had, though less often these days.

He still worked out like a fanatic, hitting the weights with a vengeance as though they had replaced the heads of his usual quarry. Ever time he gripped a dumbbell he felt the soft throat of some murdering scumbag collapsing between his fingers.

He still zeroed his scopes and sharpened his blades and mixed his napalm. For what reasons, he did not know. All the hatred remained, but something inside just didn't burn as brightly as it once did.

And now, sitting as his workbench and running a solvent soaked cloth through the barrel of a Sig 552 carbine, he looked back and reminded himself that he still had a job to do.

The last of the punks that jumped him the other night was just coming around to consciousness. Castle had used razor wire to strap him to a heavy metal chair. He would have simply broken the guy's neck and left him dead with the rest of his friends if it hadn't been for one small occurrence. While he was pummeling the bastard's face, a single white business card tumbled out of his jacket.

Castle wouldn't have given it a second thought except that this particular card was very intriguing. It was entirely blank except for a black skull on one side.

The Punisher had never made such a thing.

The skull had been hand painted, and had little white lines running through it as if it had been pieced together like a puzzle.

It had piqued his interest, and instantly Castle wondered if it was linked to the recent murders of two allegedly corrupt cops and two city officials. The faces had been mutilated beyond recognition.

Castle knew instinctively the pricks that tried to snuff him out were not the murderers, but it was a good bet they were involved somehow, so he decided it would be a prudent move to investigate the matter further. And who better to learn from than someone with a first hand account.

After he finished reassembling the rifle and putting it away, Castle poured himself a piping hot cup of coffee.

He walked over to his prisoner and said, "Wake up," before tossing the coffee in his face.

The man came to life screaming in pain.

"I know," Castle told him. "I'm no good without caffeine, either."

"You prick! You miserable—"

The words were cut off by Castle's right fist. The man's head snapped to the left and two teeth flew across the room.

"Enough sweet talk. I'm running a little low on patience these days, so let's get to it."

Castle grabbed the back of the heavy chair and began pulling it towards a walk in closet he had soundproofed and fitted with a large metal door.

"And there in lies the problem." He said as he drug his hostage inside and stood in the entrance. "You know the only problem with having so many people to kill?"

The man said nothing.

Deep in Castle's eyes, something still glistened. "Not enough time for torture."

Castle hadn't even touched him yet and his victim was screaming before he even pulled the door shut.

It took almost twenty minutes to wash all of the blood off of himself. He got into the shower turned the water as hot as it could go and he still barely felt the sweet sting as it washed over his battle worn body.

_Damn it, Frank. You lost control._

He hadn't meant to cut the punk so deep, to hit him so hard. He knew he should have stuck to waterboarding or just plain old shock therapy, but Castle couldn't deny the truth.

He _liked_ the violence. He reveled in the feel of bone crunching beneath his knuckles, of warm blood on his face.

And from what he'd gotten out of the kid, there was to be more. Much more.

_Jigsaw._

Castle knew the name well. Russo was tough, for that much he deserved credit, but he was also an example. The Punisher had killed hundreds if not thousands of murderous criminals over the years. There were always a few fortunate enough to escape his wrath, but had he truly wished the lowly mob assassin dead, he would have made it so. He scarred Billy the Beaut for life to send a message.

Apparently, criminals these days were hard of hearing.

But now forces were amassing to ensure Castle's dissolution permanently. It was coming up on the end game, and now was the time to clean out there ears for good. Clean them out in a hail of hot lead.

It was time to get back to basics, and the Punisher was ready for war.

Castle now had a better idea of what was going on. He had a starting point. It was time to prepare.

During the course of armoring up, as was nearly always the case, Frank Castle's psyche had once again been swallowed completely by that of the Punisher, and now nothing of the ex-Marine remained except memories of his family—and the undying wrath that fueled his quest to punish the wicked.

He carried two .9-millimeter Glock 17 pistols in a dual shoulder holster rig. The Austrian designed polymer handguns were light, accurate, and deadly with seventeen round magazines. On his belt he carried extra magazines for the Glocks, a fixed-blade combat knife, four pouches containing various grenades, and a row of twelve shotgun shells. On his left thigh he had pouches holding three extra thirty-round magazines for his M-4 carbine and loops holding four extra 40mm grenades for the launcher. On his right thigh he had a Desert Eagle chambered for the .50-caliber Action Express and an extra clip in a Blackhawk drop-leg holster.

It was safe to say he was Death on two feet.


	2. Barracuda Rising

THE PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

What had begun as a simple cell check had turned into a full blown manhunt in the snowy backwoods of southern Pennsylvania. Once the rest of the prisoners had been locked up tight in Southern State Correctional, law enforcement state-wide had been informed about the escape and were sending men to help in the hunt.

County Sheriffs, state police, highway patrolmen, even two U.S. Marshals had gathered en masse to detain Prisoner #8765219, the deadliest prisoner Southern State had ever housed.

"Listen up, men. We're after an ex-Green Beret here. Now don't let that fool you. He's served his country, but he is an animal and a sociopath and above all he is a tank and he _will not stop_ unless we stop him. He's an African American male, approximately six feet eleven inches, weighs two-hundred and sixty pounds. He's a big boy, but from how far he's gotten so far we know he ain't slow. The two Marshals showed up today to effect his transfer to a Supermax in Florida, so we'd like to take him alive, but I'm not sure that's going to be a possibility. He murdered four inmates in a brawl last week and stands to serve six consecutive life sentences. _Do not_ take this one lightly. Make no mistake, he's a killer. So let's get him before he gets gone."

With that they let the first team of dogs go and set off into the woods. For all the sheer size of their quarry, he was incredibly difficult to track. If not for the dogs, they probably would've veered off course several times.

Two hours into the chase they found the hounds, Tops and Seeker. Seeker's head had been caved in and Tops looked like he had been broken along his spine in three different places. There was also a ragged hole in his stomach through which his innards had been pulled. Several feet of intestinal tubing lay in the snow beside the corpse. A sharp, bloody branch had been driven into the ground next to him. It was mostly likely the tool the bastard had used to open the dog up.

"Sick son of a bitch." Handley, a state trooper, said to the three men with him as they looked down at the mess. "Why would he do this? I mean, why the _fuck_ would he stop to do this shit?"

"Maybe he wanted a snack." One of the Marshals said.

Handley looked up. "These dogs have been with us for a long time. So if you'll excuse my rudeness, I don't find that funny at all, Marshal."

"That's good, 'cause I'm not joking." The man said before lighting a cigarette. "We'd better keep moving."

Handley was mad, and he set a fast pace. In another hour they were far ahead of the rest of the search team. The Marshal was holding up pretty well, but the two officers were toting rifles and where having a rough time keeping up.

The trooper hadn't taken his hand off the butt of his pistol the entire time. It was plain as day that he was looking to kill. But, like all hunts, there is a line that separates the predator from the prey, it just doesn't stipulate who's who until it's already too late.

"Sir, wait! I can't…I have to rest. I have to—" The young officer was almost immediately cut off when a tree branch that might as well have been a fucking log came crashing down on his head.

The skull cracked, definitely, but it held up much better than the neck. Handley had turned just in time to see the young man's throat disappear as his chin crashed down into his collar bone. His face scrunched up and his teeth squirted out of his mouth in a wash of blood before he slumped over dead.

The second officer ran over and knelt down by the kid. "What the hell happened?"

Handley drew his pistol. "The fucker circled around behind us. Get up!"

The officer didn't have time however, because whereas previously the massive club had come down, now it came whistling up right into the man's face. There was an indescribable _crunching, cracking, squishing_ sound as the officer was lifted off his feet and thrown five feet before crashing into the snow.

"Shit! Freeze!" Handley screamed.

The hulking beast of a man stepped out from behind the tree and smiled with a mouth full of gold, blood-stained teeth. His orange jumpsuit was tattered and covered in dirt.

"You the one gonna be frozen, muthafucka."

Handley thumbed back the hammer on his Beretta. An unnecessary gesture but done nonetheless for the purpose of intimidation. Before he could squeeze off a round, however, thunderous shot cracked the silence of the forest and a slug cut into the trooper's neck, tearing through the carotid artery.

Handley, in shock, dropped his gun and fell to the ground, choking on his own blood.

The convict faced the shooter and raised the branch.

"Easy there, big guy." The Marshal said, lowering his smoking Glock.

"What game you playin' lawman? Why'd you spring me?"

The Marshal reached into his pocket and produced a plain white business card with a black skull on it.

The big man's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I remember him. What'chu got to do with it?"

"My employer's setting up something big in New York City in a few days. He's throwing a party for the Punisher and he wants you to be in attendance. There's going to be plenty of party favors and a million bucks up for grabs. That's a pretty nice payday to start out fresh. You could do big things with a bank like that."

"So what do we do?"

"There's a van stashed in a barn about twelve miles northeast of here. If you can get to it and make it to New York in time for the big bash, you're home free."

"And you?"

"My part's done. I just rough myself up a bit and say I survived."

"Then I guess I better head on." The convict said and walked past the Marshal. "There's just one last thing."

"What's that?" The Marshal asked.

"Nobody survives the Barracuda."

The Marshal turned just in time to see the fat end of the branch come rocketing straight towards his face.

Barracuda dropped his makeshift club and collected the Marshal's Glock and the now dead Handley's Beretta before heading northeast, leaving his vanquished foes to the cold and the dark.


	3. The Chop Shop

PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

They were working on the vehicles in an old chop shop that had previously been run by the Gnucci brothers, Bobby and Eddie. The crew was made up primarily of the remaining members of two inner city gangs that had been all but annihilated by the Punisher.

All throughout were the harsh abrasive sounds of pounding hammers, metal against metal, the dull roar of an oxyacetylene torch being lit. Having been up against the Punisher's armory before, they had learned the value of vehicles that could hold up under attack. A normal car door was a poor excuse for cover. Though they didn't have any immediate access to military grade plating, which was something they had been promised they would receive in time, they had to make due with sheet metal bulletproofing.

On a table towards the back of the room there was a small assortment of handguns and the like gathered around a single white card baring the symbol of their benefactor. A black skull with lines throughout against a white background, inverted colors of the Punisher's own sigil.

Most people didn't believe it when they heard Billy Russo was still alive. He'd been taken out by the Punisher during a hit ordered by the Costas. Nobody before had _ever_ went toe to toe with the Skull and lived to tell about it. But soon enough it became clear that Russo _was_ back, having now taken a new name.

Jigsaw.

And he wanted to do far more than just tell about it. He was offering up a million dollars cash money _apiece_ to any lowlife scum or cluster of scum that wanted to take the city back.

Rule New York City?

The first of them called him crazy.

Then they saw his face.

Word on the street was that something big was going down. Jigsaw was murdering city officials and high level prosecutors left and right. He had risen to power almost faster than the Kingpin of Crime himself.

Of course, upon hearing the word, Mickey Two Fingers, the highest ranking member of one of the gangs was ready to join the fight. So named because the Punisher had chopped off all of the fingers on his left hand except for the thumb and index finger with meat cleaver, Mickey was terrified of another run in with that guy, but with Jigsaw offering so much money and firepower, it was unlikely he would ever see the Punisher again.

There was a loud knock at the door.

"What the fuck?" Mickey cursed, whipping towards the front of the shop.

"Chill out, boss. It's just Joe. He went out for a cigarette." One of the guys asked as he laid down his grinder and walked to the door. "What the matter, Joe? You get locked out?"

He pulled open the door to find Joe, but something was wrong. His eyes were wide and his whole body was stiff. It also looked like somebody had hit him hard enough to smear his nose across half of his face.

"Shit, Joe. What happened to—"

When the enormous _boom_ sounded, everybody in the place turned to see both men's heads exploded in a shower of blood and brains. Before the bodies had even reached the ground, a flashbang grenade came rolling in the door. Right before it went off, Mickey had time to catch a glimpse of the man with the skull.

"No!" He cried before his world was taken over by white light.

The Punisher stepped over the fallen bodies and walked into the shop strapped with a UAS-12 automatic shotgun fed by a fifty round drum magazine. The great beast of a gun spit flames five feet out of the barrel as he held down the trigger and swept the muzzle of the gun from side to side, unleashing an unstoppable wall of lead.

The men inside were still holding their ears or rubbing at their eyes as they were chopped them into great bloody mounds of fresh meat. The rounds inside the gun were incendiary shells packed with little steel flechette darts capable of tearing through just about anything.

When Castle had expended his ammunition he pulled an HE grenade from his belt and tossed it into the nearest vehicle, which three seconds later had its doors blown off by the blast. There had been two men inside taking cover from the attack.

At this point, there was no one left that wasn't dead or screaming in unbearable agony except for one man that had managed to dive behind a metal tool bench. As Castle dropped the shotgun and pulled the strap from his rucksack over his head, Mickey Two Fingers rushed him with a metal pipe.

Castle sensed the gangbanger's approach and spun, the strap of the bag gripped tight in his hands. It weighed at least thirty pounds, full of homemade Semtex. It struck Mickey in the abdomen and threw him back against a metal table holding a Miter saw. He fell to the ground reaching for the pipe when he felt the Punisher's seasoned, iron grip clench the back of his neck.

Two Fingers looked up to be greeted by the face of the Grim Reaper. Castle's hair was slicked back, and his face was painted black with the bright white skull imposed in the center.

His eyes could've been on fire.

"Mickey. After last time I really hoped I wouldn't see you under these circumstances again. Guess my rehab techniques didn't get through to you."

"It's Mickey Two Fingers now you fucking piece of shit!" Mickey said, holding up his hand.

"It's got a nice ring to it. I need to know where the first bomb's scheduled to go off tonight."

"How the hell did you know about that?"

"A little bird told me, before I ripped its head off. It's too late for him now, but you've still got a chance. Tell me what Jigsaw plans to hit tonight and I'll consider giving you one more chance."

Mickey laughed in Castle's face. "He—he's crazy, ya know. He's gonna kill you, Punisher. You're dead!"

"So I keep hearing. You know, on second thought, Two Fingers doesn't really sound like it fits you."

The Punisher flipped the switch and the Miter saw buzzed to blaring life. He gripped Mickey's left hand and slid it under the spinning blade.

"What the hell are you doing? No! No!"

Castle released Mickey's neck, but his grip on his hand held strong. Mickey was on his knees, and didn't have near the leverage he needed to break away. The Punisher grabbed the handle and pulled down on the saw, severing Mickey's hand, wrist, and half of his forearm.

"_Fuuuuuuck!_" Mickey screamed.

Castle was through playing around. He grabbed Mickey by the collar and forced his head under the blade.

"Last chance, Mickey. Talk or we'll have to change your name to Buzz Cut."

Castle pushed down on the saw, the teeth slicing by right above Mickey's eyes.

"The north side power plant! Jigsaw wants to control power to the city! Shit! Please stop!" Mickey was crying now, and Castle thought he could smell feces somewhere under the odor of blood and burning metal.

He stopped the saw and let Mickey fall to the ground.

He walked to the rucksack and unzipped it. He pulled out a small box and tinkered with it for a moment before tossing it back into the bag.

"You…you said you'd let me go. You said it."

"I'm not stopping you. You'd better get to a hospital before you bleed out."

In fact, Mickey had lost so much blood he was already dead. He had no chance of survival.

The Punisher picked up his shotgun and walked to the door. He looked back.

"You've got about sixty seconds."

After he left, Mickey thought he could hear the sound of an engine trailing off. He was almost gone, but he found the strength to roll onto his stomach and crawl for the bag. Maybe if he could stop the timer he could hold out long enough for someone to find him. He reached for the bag.

Outside, a great roar filled the air as the metal sides of the shop bowed out from the force of the explosion. Balls of fire belched forth from holes in the ceiling, but it was as brief as it was intense, and seconds later the night was quiet once more.


	4. Quiet as a Tomb

THE PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

The few emergency services that were left had been dispatched to the scene on 8th Street. A lot of people had chosen to get out of the city when all of the chaos began, cops and other public servants included. It would have been a mistake to evacuate this early on in the hunt for the men behind the attacks, but to the two officers sent on patrol after the bank explosion it seemed like they were driving through a ghost town.

Row after row of dark windows adorned every building and apartment structure. Rolling blackouts had been sweeping the city since the assault on the power plant earlier that evening. The consequences could have been enormous if he hadn't stepped in.

The man who bore the skull.

"Do you think it was really him?" Officer Deets asked his partner, Brown.

"The Punisher? I don't know. The guy's a legend, but nobody's seen him for a while. Not that it matters. He's just some nut with an axe to grind, taking his anger out on the guys we're supposed to be putting away. Whoever he is, he's dangerous."

"Yeah, but, he hasn't hurt any innocent people."

"I know, but he _is_ a killer. You can't just go around taking the law into your own hands. Maybe he belongs on Ryker's with the rest of the maniacs."

They were at the corner of West and 3rd when they got the call. Code 594; malicious mischief. Some wacko going around breaking out car and shop windows, cursing at the top of his lungs, and breaking into a hardware store. The dispatcher informed them another black and white was being sent to assist.

"When does it end?" Brown said and stepped on the gas.

It didn't take too long for them to find him. He was right outside the small hardware store, stooped down on the curb, his hands working furiously at the base of a parking meter.

"Probably just a drunk getting off on all the stuff that's been going down tonight." Brown went on, visibly agitated as they exited their cruiser.

"Hey, buddy. Come on, on your feet."

Deets didn't like the feel of this too much. The street was a trap for darkness, illuminated only by the full moon in the eastern sky. Every doorway was a hiding place where shadows lurked. What was this guy doing out here anyway?

"Did you hear me? I said the fun's over, so just take it easy and put your hands behind your head. You've caused a lot of damage. Deets, cuff him."

With a grunt, the large man's muscles relaxed as the parking meter toppled over, sawed through at the base.

"Oh jeez." Deets groaned, his discomfort growing with every moment. He pulled the cuffs from his belt.

"You know, boys," a raspy, whispering voice emanated from the shadows behind them. Brown spun and put his hand on the butt of his revolver. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

A light sparked in the shadows next to a building across the street. The flint of a lighter. A small flame was birthed and lifted slowly to the end of a cigarette. At first, the sight of the ghostly pale face startled him, but he wasn't about to let that be known.

"And why is that?" Brown asked, reaffirming his position with a stern tone of voice, but that's where it ended. That's when the officer realized who he was looking at.

"Holy shit!"

"Because," said the pale man, "he's got a real mean streak in him."

Deets was suddenly aware of the mess they'd gotten themselves into and had no other choice but to forge ahead. As he turned his attention back on the crouching man, however, he was unable to register that he had come to his feet and was already in mid-swing.

The parking meter hit him squarely in the center of his chest, collapsing his ribcage as if he had been made of thin, brittle sticks. His internal organs squished and ruptured, his heart flattened like a pancake, and his lungs popped, sending what air had been in them up his windpipe and out of his mouth with a copious stream of blood. His body reacted as if hit by a freight train. He flew through the air and slammed into the windshield of the cruiser with enough force to create a spider web network of cracks all across its face.

Officer Brown had no idea that his partner was dead. Hell, he had never even considered that a fucking parking meter could even be swung like that. That is, until he saw their suspect stand fully upright.

_Jesus, look at the size of him!_

That's when he heard the click of a pistol.

"And so do I." Said the raspy voiced man before he fired two shots, one through each of Brown's kneecaps. Brown fell to the asphalt screaming. That's when he knew. He knew Deets was dead, he knew he himself was about to die. More than anything, though, he knew that he couldn't just give up. He felt the pistol in his hands and raised it, but when he opened his eyes, the last thing he knew was that it was over.

The parking meter collided with the right front side of his face. It might as well have collided with a watermelon, for all the effect it had. Officer Brown's skull opened up and splattered across the pavement like ripened fruit, sending brains and bone and little white teeth into the air. His body, too, took flight like a golf tee ripped from the ground. Like a headless rag doll, it skittered across the pavement and rammed into the door of a car before finally coming to rest.

Barracuda himself was surprised at the mess.

Unconcerned with dead men, however, he turned his attention to the man that had shot the cop, only to find that he had disappeared.

At the end of the street, another cruiser rounded the corner and pulled up behind the first. Barracuda watched their eyes widen as they surveyed him and then the headless body of their fallen brother in blue.

He had resigned to the knowledge that he would most likely take a bullet or two that night. In the time it took to reach for the pistols he'd taken from the lawmen in Pennsylvania the two new officers would be out and aiming for him. That's when he saw the little black sphere come tumbling out of the shadows and roll under the cruiser. Just when the men inside opened their doors, the whole vehicle went up in a fabulous ball of fiery death. The heated shockwave hit Barracuda like a hammer, making him squint and raise his hand to protect his face, but when the fire illuminated the street, he saw that the pale man was standing much closer to the blast than he and seemed almost completely unaffected.

"Who the fuck are you?" He yelled when the noise of the explosion had passed.

The albino skinned figure in the black suit stepped down from the curb and approached Barracuda with a sly grin. A grin full of wickedly sharp teeth, filed down to points.

"_What_ the fuck are you?"

"Me?" The man rasped. "I'm just an old man enjoying a night out on the town. An antique, really. Name's Lincoln. Lonnie Lincoln, but around here I go by a different name."

Barracuda's jaw nearly dropped. Never in his life had he expected to actually meet the man standing in front of him.

"I know who you are. My father once told me to be as hard as the motherfuckin' world itself. Ever since then, when I think'a that, I think'a Tombstone."

The albino man bowed and rasped. "The one and only. And you, _Barracuda_. How that name rolls off the tongue. I can say that I've been looking forward to meeting you for some time. Your reputation stretches almost as far as my own."

"Are you here for the man with the skull on his chest?"

"The Punisher. _Yessss_. There's a man in town offering quite a bounty to capture him alive. Though at this point, the money is nothing compared to the Punisher's flesh between my teeth. He nearly ended me for good, many years ago. I just couldn't resist the chance to take him on again."

"I had a scrap with him ma self a while back. Been looking for a reckonin' too. Who's this chump offerin' up a million bucks for him?"

"His name's Billy Russo, but don't nobody call him that no more. Word is the Punisher tried to teach him how to fly a couple years ago. Put him through a window. Turns out he was a lot better at fallin' than flying. Glass cut him all to shit, took two weeks to stitch him all back together. Now he goes by the name of Jigsaw. You call him Jigsaw, if you know what's good for you."

Barracuda felt almost disappointed. "You scared o' this jackass?"

Tombstone game him a look that instantly put him in his place. The pale man nearly rivaled him in height, and though Barracuda had him in terms of sheer muscle, he was not in favor of pissing the guy off.

"I'm not scared of nothin' junior, but I know to give respect where it's due. And the rest of the crime in this city _does_ fear him. If there's two name's people shit themselves when they hear, it's the Punisher…and Jigsaw."

"There's 'bout to be another name on that list. What about you?"

Tombstone looked away. "Let's just say it took me awhile to resurface after my last run in with the skull, but I'm working my way back up. Anyway, now that introductions are done with, you can find your new employer to the west, at the Glutton Brothers slaughter house."

Barracuda looked to the west, past the blazing wreckage of the cruiser. The vehicle he'd driven into the city was a useless heap, and now he felt as though he didn't have time to hunt around for a car worth hotwiring. He didn't mind hoofing it, though. In fact, with his brand new bashing toy, he almost preferred it.

"Where are you headed, old man?" He questioned Tombstone, only to find that the legendary gangster had vanished almost as suddenly as he had appeared, truly as silent as the grave.


	5. The Face of Evil

THE PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

To Detective Martin Soap, the office smelled like the days spent at his old precinct, surrounded by the lowest of the low. Back when he was just a beat cop.

Coffee and cigarettes. That's what it smelled like.

Sometimes Soap still missed his blues. He'd been a detective for a long time now, and so often it seemed like he spent most of his life behind a desk. Until…well, until the real freaks started coming out of the woodwork.

Like now, it seemed like he was surrounded by so much madness it was just about time to kick back and wait for the world to end.

But they weren't waiting for the world to end.

At least…not yet.

They were waiting for just one man.

The two uniformed officers accompanied him as he emerged, bound and blood-drenched, through the office doors. Soap had never seen his face before. All he had to prepare him were the countless stories he had heard circulating throughout the city. Suffice to say, they didn't do the man justice.

His face was a patchwork canvas of tormented insanity brought to terrifying life. The scars ran from his throat in a sickening network of twists and turns all the way up his face, finally ending in a patch of scalp that sprawled half-way up the left side of his head. His hair was messy and wild in a controlled chaos sort of way.

But his eyes…his _eye_.

That's what really gave Soap the creeps.

The lids on the left eye socket had been completely sheared away by the man's untimely defenestration, leaving the wide, glistening orb to hang amidst a convalescence of raw looking scar tissue.

It never closed.

It never blinked.

Soap felt sick just looking at it.

"William Russo." Commander Hardwick cleared his throat and began.

"Is dead," the scarred madman rasped. "Please, call me Jigsaw."

The commander said nothing. A bead of sweat, previously forming at his temple, now rolled down his cheek. He licked his lips and looked at his men. It was amazing how, even surrounded by the law, Billy Russo, the man known as Jigsaw could still make them sweat.

"Very well."

Upon Jigsaw's arrest, the nearest precinct was more than a dozen blocks away, so they had to resort to using the District Attorney's office. They were in a small conference room connected to a larger common office just down the hall from the DA's. Windows on both sides of the door gave an unobstructed view of the desks outside the office and the double doors that led into the hallway. Inside the conference room there was only a single Brownwood table with six chairs.

"Gentlemen." Jigsaw began as he walked around to the back end of the table. His hands were cuffed behind his back. "I understand the time constraints here."

"Where is the bomb?" The commander asked. His voice was steady and demanded. He was letting it be known that he was not a man to mess with.

Soap, however, still had his doubts about the whole situation.

Jigsaw looked stymied. "Bomb?"

"Don't play games. Where is it? A bank? A shopping mall? A hospital?"

The man called Jigsaw looked down at the table. Several seconds passed.

His eyes met the commander's. He spoke.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

Jigsaw just stared.

"What do you mean, yes?"

"I'm sorry. I think this conversation got off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I should've answered differently. You're question is where is the bomb. My answer is, which one?"

Soap was beyond feeling sick, he feared he was going to become physically ill.

The commander stepped within a foot of Jigsaw and stared him directly in his horrendous face. "Where are they, you fucking lunatic?"

Jigsaw did not look scared.

"As I was saying, _I_ understand the time constraints here, but I'm not sure that _you_ do. That is to say, you don't have much. Now, if you would be so kind as to remove these handcuffs, maybe we could come to some mutual agreement."

The Commander narrowed is eyes. "Such as?"

"We both get what we want, and nobody has to die. At least, nobody that don't have it comin' to 'em anyway. I tell you where the bombs are, and maybe I even give you a little something for the case you're building against Wilson Fisk. You get your bad guy, you get the glory."

"And you? No matter what you've got to trade, you're not walking out of here a free man."

"Details, Commander. Little details we can discuss later. For right now, you know what I want. I want the symbol that criminals fear the most in this stinking pit of a city. I want the skull."

"Castle."

Jigsaw nodded. "I want the Punisher."

"Not a chance in hell." Soap said, trying to sound cool and collected, but before he could continue his cell phone started vibrating like crazy, making him jump in place like a frightened school girl.

The commander and the two officers just stared at him as he answered his phone.

"Soap here. Uh huh. Can this wait? Okay, okay. Just hold on." He put his hand over the receiver. "I have to take this."

He left the conference room and continued out down the hallway to another office.

"That's Soap for you." Jigsaw said. "Always good for a laugh."

"Shut the hell up." The Commander ordered.

"I thought you wanted to know about the…explosive devices."

"What I want is to put a bullet in your brain so my son doesn't have to grow up in a world where a monster like you exists."

"But there will always be monsters like me. Like me, like the Punisher, like you."

"I'm nothing like you!" The Commander barked. "Or Castle. You're insane. You're psychotic animals. I live in a civilized world where people don't go around murdering each other."

"No, you just go around threatening to murder each other, or end each other's careers. You go around bullshitting one another while people like me take the more direct route. We cut away the unnecessary and get straight to the solution. Murder, as you call it. Just the way nature intended it. And we can do it all without a badge and state-sanctioned paycheck. Hell, Commander. Castle and I are the sanest, most civilized people you know."

Hardwick rushed him, slammed him against the back wall with a fistful of collar in each hand. The Commander was seething with rage, but as he looked into that wide eye he nearly faltered. Now Jigsaw looked pissed.

"Listen to me, you pathetic piece of trash. You're going to tell me where those bombs are, or I'm gonna make the rest of your body look just like your face."

Jigsaw didn't even blink.

"Commander, you're talkin' to the only motherfucker that ever crossed the Punisher and lived to tell about it. And, I might add, the only motherfucker lookin' to cross him _again_. The worst you've got couldn't match Castle's if he had terminal cancer of the brain, so give the tough shit act a rest and uncuff me."

Jigsaw's eye traced its way up the wall to the clock above the door.

"Not that it matters anyway. I think we're too late."

Even from the center office on the third floor of the building they heard the massive _boom_ reverberate throughout the walls.

And they _felt_ it even more. The floor rumbled and the windows rattled in their frames. It lasted only a moment before the tremors subsided, but the shakes that ran through them all remained.

"What the hell?" One of the officers said.

The Commander was spooked, yet still furious. "What the fuck have you done?"

"I haven't done anything. In fact, I was ready to stop it, but when I don't check up on my boys every now and again, they tend to get a little…volatile."

"Where? Where was it?"

"Let's just say the only thing that's going to be withdrawn from the 8th street bank is rubble. And you've got about three minutes before the Pierce & Pierce building on Wall Street will have to start specializing in rock exchange."

"You son of a bitch."

"Can't disagree with you, Commander, but insulting me isn't going to save any lives. Just the cuffs, Hardwick. Just the cuffs, and I'll stop the next one."

"And the one after that?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it, so to speak."

"Keys." Hardwick said to the officer behind him.

"Sir?"

"I said give me the goddamn keys!"

Hardwick snatched the keys from the officer and freed Jigsaw.

The scarred man rubbed his wrists and said calmly, "I'll need a phone."

Hardwick produced his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to him.

Jigsaw dialed, and the time seemed to stretch on forever before whoever was on the other line picked up.

"It's me. I know. Where are you?"

"Hey! Can the horse shit! Tell him to stop the bomb."

Jigsaw looked past the Commander and stepped back, positioning himself directly in the center of the back wall. "Yeah," he said. "That's Commander Hardwick. He's a real hard ass."

Hardwick rested his hand on the butt of his revolver and issued one final warning. "Tell him _now_."

Jigsaw looked almost dismayed for a moment before taking the phone away from his ear. "I really am sorry about this. Tell him yourself."

He tossed the phone into the air, but before it could reach Hardwick's hand a hail of automatic gunfire exploded through the windows, ripping through both officers and the Commander. They shook and jumped like marionettes as the heavy rounds slammed into them. One round caught the officer on the left in the side of the neck, tearing it apart and nearly taking his head off. The other officer's eyeball exploded before he finally slumped to the ground, dead.

Hardwick stumbled and twisted and pulled his gun, trying to find a target, but his limbs and midsection were tore to shreds. He hadn't worn a vest in six years before that night, but even then it couldn't help him. He fell to the ground in a pool of blood.

Jigsaw had stood still as a statue as the chaos raged all around. Bullet holes riddled the wall to either side of him, but he was untouched except for a few splashes of flesh blood across is chest and face.

Hardwick tried to roll onto his belly but couldn't. He was afraid his spine may have been severed. He called out for his officers. "J-Jason? Lenny?"

Stepping away from the wall, Jigsaw walked over the Commander and looked down at him. "I'm sorry, Hardwick. They're dead. But if it makes you feel any better, you're all going to get hero's funerals. Nobody will ever know or care about the kind of dirt bags you really are."

He looked up at one of his men that came through the door.

"Any sign of the Punisher?"

"No, sir. Should I execute the next target?"

"Keep it in check for now. We might still need some leverage. Did you bring my gear?"

"Sir." The man said and motioned the one of the others behind him, who walked forward and threw a canvas bag on the table. Jigsaw tore into it like a kid on Christmas, producing first an shoulder holster holding an enormous stainless steel .44-Magnum revolver, and then a white bulletproof vest with a black skull painted on the front to mirror the Punisher's own.

"You see this, Commander? When this is over, I will be the new Punisher. I will punish the righteous for their arrogance and the innocent for their weakness. We're going to usher in a brave new world."

"I hope you die in flames you ugly fuck."

"Ugly fuck? Did you hear what he called me, Sykes? An ugly fuck. Give me a blade. Give me two blades."

Jigsaw collected two wickedly sharp fixed-blade combat knives from his men and knelt down, straddling Hardwick's chest.

"You know something? When I look in the mirror, I _like_ what I see. That's because I know what I am, and I embrace it. Unlike you. You're a man that can't stand the sight of his own self for all the shit he tries to hide behind his badge and gun. And now you're going to die here and I'm going to tear this city apart. You should have put that bullet in my brain, because now your son does have to live in a world with me. But I promise you, your pain is going to pale in comparison to his."

"N-No." Hardwick barely found the strength to speak.

Jigsaw looked up at his men. "Give me a minute."

After they left, he ran the blades against each other in front of Hardwick's face. "Let's see if you bleed blue."

Outside the devastated conference room, Jigsaw's cronies looked back and forth at each other uncomfortably as they listened to the city's fallen Commander Hardwick scream.


	6. The Heck of It

THE PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

When Jigsaw had finished his grisly work, he emerged from the room covered in the gore and spatter from his latest masterpiece. The good Commander had ceased gurgling and moaning an eternity ago, it seemed. Jigsaw's men had little to do but stand and wait, listening to the sharpened edges of deadly blades as they scraped against cartilage and bone.

"Sorry 'bout that, fellas, but old Hardwick had some guts. I just wanted to check 'em out. My time _is _valuable, but I figured it's the least I could give him, bein' such an American hero and all. Him, I mean, not me."

He pulled an unmarked pack of cigarettes from his left breast pocket. The cig he lit was stained with the blood that had soaked through his shirt, but he didn't mind. He had lit one of his white smokes. He always carried two kinds with him, white ones and black ones. The whites were soaked in a liquid solution of Xanax and Vicodin while the blacks were laced with cocaine and PCP.

"So what's next on the roster?"

"Simms radioed in from downstairs. Heck just pulled up. He's on his way."

Just then the double doors across the room opened and in strolled a confident looking man with gator skin boots, a loose swagger and a freshly starched suit-jacket.

"Harry! Long time no see." Jigsaw spread his arms wide in welcoming fashion.

When Heck saw Jigsaw, every bit of the coolness he took so much pride in completely fell apart. Color drained from his face and he swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Jesus Christ!"

Jigsaw chuckled. "Nope, it's just me. But I've been getting that a lot lately."

"I…I heard what happened, but I had no idea. Fuck. You—you look good, man."

Jigsaw took a drag and tilted his head back. Keeping his lips closed, the blue-gray smoke rose from the various lines and holes in his face. He looked back at Heck

"Yeah, well, I _feel_ good," he said and held out the bloody pack. "Smoke?"

Heck had a hard time looking away from the hideous mess that had become of Russo's face. He was unsure of turning down the offer. He'd heard scary things about Jigsaw lately, and he didn't want to get on the guy's bad side.

"Trying to quit. Those things'll kill ya, you know."

Jigsaw put the pack back in his pocket. "That's what they tell me. But then again, they said that about the Punisher, too."

"And I see you're up and kicking." Heck grinned, trying to lighten the mood. It failed, however, as Jigsaw's demeanor changed to a more serious, almost sad state.

"Yeah, but I suppose there's still time. Anyway, you're stickin' around for the big show I hope."

Up until he'd seen Russo's face, Heck had been thinking only about the money. He'd wanted to check up on his old friend, of course, but he didn't think he'd actually end up anywhere near the Punisher. Now, though, after seeing Castle's handy work his mind was quickly filling with doubt.

"Hey, you know me. I'm down for just about anything, but I just turned the corner of 7th when that bomb went off. Scared the shit right outta me. I'm here to help if you need it, but where it concerns the Punisher, I'm not looking to die tonight."

Jigsaw walked forward and placed his hand on Heck's shoulder.

"Harry, Harry. Would I do that to you? Would I put you in harm's way if you weren't up for the ride? Of course not. We all know what that bastard's capable of. I don't expect you to challenge him to a quick draw. Just between you and me, my guys are good, they're professionals, but nobody's got the gun hand you got. I was just hoping you might want a little piece of the action. And for five mil who wouldn't?"

"I thought it was just one million?"

"For everybody else it is. But that pot's made special for you, Harry. Because we used to tear it up, you and me. I know you've been in Miami soakin' up the sun and I've been here tryin' to make something of myself in this shit hole of a town, but I haven't forgotten the good times. And Jimmy, bless his fuck crazy soul, I wish he was here now."

Just then they heard the spark of a radio, and Jigsaw's head whipped around, his eyes wide at the possibility that Castle might finally have turned up. Sykes lowered his head and spoke in hushed tones before informing Jigsaw of the situation.

"Team Three's covered in black and white."

"Where?"

"Outside the Brad Street Hotel. Looks like feds, too."

"Soap's strike force. Guess he wasn't bluffing. Hey, where the hell is Soap anyway? Did you guys pass him comin' in?"

They shook they're heads.

"Little weasel must've gone out the other hallway. I doubt he's still in the building, and we ain't got time to look." He turned back to Heck. "Looks like it's time, brother. You just back us up if and when the time comes. You don't even have to come out from behind the scope of a rifle."

"You're makin' me feel like a chicken shit."

"Hey, don't say that. I'm thinkin' of your safety."

"I can take care of myself. These ain't hickies on my chest, they're battle scars. I got my guitar and I'm ready to play."

Jigsaw smiled. "You wanna go make some music?"

"Hell yeah."

"Then let's get fuckin' playing!"

With that, they left the cold corpses of the officers behind and ventured out into the deep night to see what other carnage they could create.


	7. Hard Target

PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

There were two vehicles waiting for them as they exited the office building. The first, an armor reinforced SUV made for escorting high profile targets. The other, a stolen SWAT van filled to the brim with weaponry for Jigsaw's men. There had been no lack of preparation for this night of devastation, Jigsaw's finest hour. Hell, he figured for dead men he and the Punisher deserved at least that much. There was almost enough to make the night worthy of a true showdown. But from Jigsaw's point of view, as long as the fire's blazing, burn what needs burning and leave the rest for the rain to wash away.

In the knowledge that they were heading for a firefight, Jigsaw had donned his white ballistic vest and shoulder rig. Indeed, he looked all the part of chaos itself. War torn face, covered in blood, and armed to the teeth with a storm behind his eyes. As Harry Heck got into his lime green Plymouth Roadrunner, so did Jigsaw slide into the passenger seat of the SUV. Two of his men got into the back as he turned his face to the two that had been standing guard outside.

"You stay here. Keep an eye out for Soap and that skull-chested son of a bitch. If the Punisher so much as loads a gun, I want to know what he's packing. Understood?"

"Yes sir." The two said in unison.

"All right then." Jigsaw said to the driver. "Let's go say hi to some more of New York's finest."

The SUV and the SWAT truck sped away into the dark night, leaving the two henchmen to do as they pleased.

"So you think the Punisher's even gonna show?"

"The fuck do I care? The money we're gettin' paid, he can nuke this whole damn city if he wants to."

"You know, if he does come, he'll be comin' for all of us."

The cocky one leaned his shotgun against the side of the building and joined his comrade near the street. He lit a cigarette.

"Like I'm gonna be around for it. This war's between him and the Face. Soon as Jigsaw's got him, I'm takin' my green and headin' for Vegas."

"Not me, I'm stickin' it through. The Punisher's killed more of my friends than every cop in this city combined. I'm gonna wipe that fucker off the face of the planet."

That's when they heard the distinctive sound of metal on metal, the racking of a shotgun.

They turned to see a disheveled Soap with the barrel of the twelve-gauge aimed squarely at them.

"You boys should consider yourselves the luckiest bastards on earth tonight."

"W-why?" One of the men stammered. "You g-gonna let us go?"

"Nope. You're lucky I got to you instead of Castle."

The shotgun barked like a wild animal in Soap's hands as he fired, taking the first one's face off. He pumped and fired again, hitting the second one dead in the chest. They fell to the ground full of smoldering double-ought buckshot, dead.

Soap lowered the gun. "He would've _really_ fucked you up."

He looked across the street and saw his bureau issued Sedan sitting right where he'd left it. He could only guess that Jigsaw assumed he'd run off into the night with his tail between his legs. Soap felt awful about the deaths inside, but he had to accept that he had been powerless to help them. He had been outnumbered and outgunned. Thankfully, he'd heard the conversation and as soon as he knew of their next move, he made a call to the number he thankfully didn't have to call often.

"Come on, Frank." Soap said, looking up into the starry night sky.

He took a deep breath for strength and hurried to his car. He had to try to stop the bloodbath that was about to ensue.

As the SUV and SWAT truck rounded the corner, the cops and feds that were exchanging bullets with Jigsaw's men thought for a moment that backup had arrived. The last they had heard, Jigsaw had been taken into custody and all that was left was to round up his men. Then the second bomb had gone off, and they knew at once something was wrong.

For the moment, they had driven their opponents back into the building and it was only a matter of time before they could consider the siege a success. After the previous slaughter at a nearby precinct earlier in the night, they all needed a victory, something to give them hope.

Now, however, that hope was gone.

As the SUV approached, Jigsaw leaned out the side window with a .45-caliber H&K UMP submachine gun. He let loose with a volley of gunfire, stitching a line of bullets across the police cars and into two officers and one agent. One of the officers took a round in his side where he had no protection. The bullet tore into his abdomen, expanded, and stopped, leaving a wide wound channel that began to bleed profusely. Another bullet smashed into the agent's forehead, opening up the back of his skull like a cracked egg.

"Who the fuck is that?" One of the officers yelled over the roar of automatic gunfire.

Agent Paul Budiansky, crouched down between two squad cars, didn't have to see to know. He had been on the phone with Soap when the detective told him that Hardwick had been killed. Looking up, Budiansky saw one of the bastards inside the building had gotten a little overzealous. He stepped out without cover and started spraying bullets from a MAC-10. Budiansky sighted down his Sig P228 and fired, taking the thug cleanly in the ocular-cranial cavity. He dropped like a bag of sand.

Glass exploded above his head, accompanying the sound of the slugs slamming into the squad cars.

Jigsaw slid back into his seat and pulled the empty clip from the UMP.

"Magazine." He said.

"Right here, sir." Sykes answered from the backseat and handed Jigsaw another black box of death just waiting to be unleashed.

The trucks stopped halfway down the street and Jigsaw and his cronies piled out and began firing.

"Hey fellas!" Jigsaw yelled as he fired another burst. "Crazy night, huh?"

Harry Heck stepped up beside him, firing a South African Striker 12-gauge street sweeper.

"Harry! Now we're having some fun again! Where's the Plymouth?"

"Round the corner. You think I was gonna let her get all shot up?"

"Hah!"

That's when Sykes yelled. "Boss! Look!"

When Jigsaw followed the man's gaze down the street he felt as though his heart might explode in his chest.

"He's here."

He was nearly four blocks down, but every man there could see him as clear as day. The Punisher was mounted on the biggest armored motorcycle they'd ever seen. As it approached they could hear the ferocious roar of its engine like a wild beast in the night. He was armored from head to toe in Kevlar, and his head was covered by a protective steel helmet with the white skull painted on its face. He rode with the sound of thunder.

"Come on," Jigsaw hissed, nearly frothing at the mouth. "Come the fuck with it."

"Now's our chance!" Budiansky yelled to his men, only to find that he had none left. Jigsaw and his men had dealt the final blow against his team. Only the Punisher could stop them now.

At close to three blocks down, they watched as Castle reached over his head and slid something up his back that came to rest on his right shoulder. It looked like a long black tube.

"Get down!" Jigsaw yelled to Heck as the tube on the Punisher's shoulder issued forth a massive cloud of flames along with a rocket propelled grenade.

Heck dove to the curb and Jigsaw jumped back inside the armored SUV as the rocket screamed past and hit the SWAT truck's grill dead center. The vehicle exploded in a fantastic display of fire and noise, taking six of Jigsaw's men with it.

"Thatta boy!" Jigsaw beamed as he dropped his UMP and emerged from the truck with a six-shot 40mm grenade launcher of his own.

He walked forward and fired downrange. The grenade hit fifteen feet in front of the Punisher, who swerved to avoid the massive crater left in its wake. Jigsaw fired again and hit a car. It burst into flames just as the Punisher sped by.

"Remember me, you fucking prick?" Jigsaw yelled.

He lifted the launcher again and took careful aim. He didn't want to murder the Punisher that way, but if he could blow him off that bike he would have plenty of time to practice his carving skills on the bastard.

A shotgun blast sounded. Jigsaw assumed it was Heck until one of his men behind him slammed into the side of the SUV and fell to the ground. Looking back, he saw much to his surprise that Soap had moved up behind them and taken cover behind a car.

"Drop it!" He yelled.

Jigsaw turned and fired. His aim was off, he hit the front of the car instead of the back like he had planned, but the explosion was still tremendous.

When Jigsaw turned back, however, he turned straight into a burst of 9mm rounds fired from the Punisher's Micro Uzi. Four of the rounds hit the empty chambers of the grenade launcher and the other two hit Jigsaw's bulletproof vest. He dove back inside the SUV for cover.

The five men left inside the building used the diversion to make their escape, but as the Punisher rocketed past he held down the trigger on the Uzi, going for a full-auto burn until the gun clicked empty. Rounds smashed into three of the men, taking them out and giving Agent Budiansky the opportunity he needed to rush forward and pick up the fallen MAC-10 used by the man he had shot. He aimed the submachine gun and cut down the last two fleeing thugs.

After the Punisher road past, Jigsaw emerged once again from the SUV.

"Welcome to the party, Frank!" He called after the Punisher. "I can call you Frank, can't I?"

Sykes got up from the ground and walked up beside Jigsaw. "Why's he leaving? I never figured him for a coward."

"I don't know, but I'm sure he's got a reason." Jigsaw hit Sykes on the shoulder. "Buck up. You wouldn't want it to be over this quick, would you? There's still so much blood to be spilt. Besides, I want him one on one, not in a gunfight. I'm gonna be the one that rips the Punisher's heart from his chest."

Not having seen Budiansky, Jigsaw looked back at the bodies strewn among the street, illuminated by the burning cars. He decided there was no use in hanging around.

"Let's get out of here."

"Not so fast."

Jigsaw and Sykes turned see Paul Budiansky staring at them down the barrel of his Sig. He'd expended the ammunition in the MAC-10.

"Drop the guns, both of you."

Sykes dropped his pistol, but Jigsaw just stood there.

"What now, Budiansky? You going to arrest us? I thought you were supposed to be out hunting the Punisher."

"He's on my list."

"Oh, I see. Then where are you gonna take us? There ain't no fucking cops left around here."

"I don't think it would do any good to send you back to Ryker's again."

Jigsaw looked in Budiansky's eyes and knew what he meant. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Don't kill him."

Thinking Jigsaw was talking about Sykes Budiansky said, "I'm not aiming at him."

Before the man could fire, Harry Heck brought the grip of his shotgun down hard on the base of the agent's skull, rendering him unconscious.

"And he wasn't talking to you, dumb shit."

Harry pointed the shotgun at Budiansky's head when Jigsaw stopped him.

"Don't. I want him alive. He's just what I was looking for. With all the information he's got, there'll be no end to how much I can fuck with Castle."

Heck helped Sykes get the agent into the SUV and hurried back to his car. After they had sped off, a very tired and very roughed up but still breathing detective Martin Soap crawled out of the gutter. He had come to just in time to see them put Paul's unconscious body into the truck. Everything was blurry in the fading firelight, and he knew he couldn't even keep a steady aim, let alone have the stability to do anything to help. Once again that night he was left feeling inadequate.

"Shit." He cursed.

He had left his Sedan parked a block down the street, and now hurried to it. He had to get back to the Punisher's safehouse.

Castle _had_ them! Why had he ridden off?

So many questions, now it was time for some answers.

While Soap was getting his bearings, however, someone else was already hot on the Punisher's trail. Tombstone had been watching the proceedings from the sidelines, and had followed Castle after the slaughter in front of the Brad Street Hotel. He didn't know why the big bad Punisher had chosen to run off in the middle of the action, but he had to stop somewhere eventually, and when he did Tombstone and the four men he had on loan from Jigsaw would be going in after him.


	8. Hunter's Moon

THE PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

The pale full moon floating high overhead illuminated the countryside and softly graced the surface of the sleek black GTO Judge. The powerful vehicle, Tombstone's pride and joy, moved quietly up the street of the neighborhood full of unfinished houses.

They had followed the Punisher to a small housing edition just outside the city limits, where neon signs and concrete buildings gave way to open roads and vibrant green lawns. It hadn't been a long drive, but they had gone far outside the reach of backup.

Tombstone wasn't worried though.

In fact, as he halted the vehicle and shut off the engine he could feel his excitement mounting like that of a predator preparing for a hunt in the night.

"What now?" One of the men asked.

"Now we walk. Keep your mouths shut. I don't want him hearing us. Oh, and one more thing," the chalk white man said, turning to face his temporary allies, "don't fuck this up, or the Punisher's the last thing you'll need to be worried about."

Tombstone was sure the men thought he was referring to Russo's sadistic nature, when in fact the warning was much more direct. If any of them got in his way, he'd kill them on the spot. There was also the fact that they'd been ordered to bring the Punisher back alive, which Tombstone had no intention of doing, so killing them was actually more a matter of time. As soon as Castle was neutralized, he'd do away with the help so he could exact his revenge without interruption.

And so they made their way on foot up the driveway to the house. Tombstone and two of the men had silenced pistols. Another had a crowbar to be used to pry open the door and beat Castle senseless, and the last stayed behind with only a heavy handbag containing a long length of chain for which to bind their target.

They approached the back door only to find that it had been left slightly ajar. A trail of blood led them into the kitchen and wound into the living room. The lights in the place were on. Tombstone noticed a drawer that had been pulled open and a roll of medical gauze lying on the tile floor.

"He's injured." The enforcer grinned, but failed to notice the block of kitchen knives on the counter from which the largest knife was missing.

They followed the blood trail into the unfinished living room. The drops were growing less and less frequent, leading right to a door against the back wall that Tombstone only guessed led to the basement.

"All right, boys. We've got him, let's do this." He nodded, and one of the men pulled open the door—only to find that it was an empty closet where the blood trail vanished.

Too late did Tombstone realize that he had never been the predator.

"Son of a—" He rasped just as the lights were cut.

"Shit!" One of the men cursed. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Hold your ground." Tombstone chastised him, but heard his fleeing footsteps anyway.

As the sounds reached the kitchen, however, they were abruptly cut off, punctuated by a pained grunt before silence consumed the house once more.

In the kitchen, Frank Castle pulled the blade from the man's throat and let him fall to the ground. Before this, though, he had taken the liberty of procuring the silenced pistol from his possession. Through his night vision goggles, the Punisher could see the other four as clear as daylight. Unfortunately, he didn't keep any weapons in the house. They were all kept in a separate garage.

He had dumped his body armor in the back and pulled a piece of still smoking shrapnel from his side before doing a quick patch up job to stop the blood flow. The wound was courtesy of one of Russo's grenades. Castle admonished himself for going in guns blazing like that, but at the time there had been no other choice. It was in the past, though, and now he had other things to worry about.

Thankfully, he still had a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun strapped to his thigh. It wouldn't do to waste his buckshot on them just yet. He had the upper hand and invisibility on his side. Besides, there was only one of them he was truly interested in.

Hearing the sound of the dying man, Tombstone and the other armed assassin aimed towards the noise and fired, but Castle was already on the move. He circled around and came up behind them through the front door foyer and took the second armed thug out with a headshot.

Tombstone answered the whisper quiet shots with his own but hit only plaster and wood. Frank moved in and placed the muzzle of the silencer against the third one's temple. The proximity of the shot eliminated the already negligible muzzle flash, and the man fell to the floor with the bag of chain, dead.

Finally, Castle turned and shot the last one in the gut, sending him to the ground in agony.

"Bastard!" Tombstone spat. "You son of a bitch!"

Castle whispered so as not to give away his position. "How many men have said that to you while you were raping their wives and daughters?"

Tombstone let out a series of wheezy laughs. "Plenty, Castle. And there'll be lots more when I'm done with you."

"Tell me where Jigsaw is and I'll end it quick."

"Fuck you. Always the righteous one. Punishing the wicked, huh? Please. The truth is that only the strong survive. You'll never be like us, Castle. I take what I want because that's the nature of the world. The weak exist as food for the strong. You're weak. You should be dead!"

"And you should've _stayed_ dead." The Punisher said as he raised the double-barrel shotgun and fired both shells into the gangster's chest, sending him crashing backwards, cracking the wall all the way to the ceiling.

Castle dropped the smoking shotgun and walked to the still dying man he'd shot in the stomach.

"Where is he?" He asked, looking down at the pathetic fool.

The man coughed viciously and spat blood. He looked up into the darkness, unable to see his executioner. "Glutton Brothers slaughterhouse. He's turned the place into a fortress. I'm s-sorry."

The Punisher picked up the crowbar. "I can't offer you forgiveness. I can only avenge the people you've hurt."

"Please don't kill me."

Had it been any other way he may have let the man go. A sincere apology was the best that could ever come from scum like that. And, recently, Castle had begun to think that some people could change.

The wound, however, was far too grievous an injury. To walk away from the man now would only serve to prolong his suffering.

"You're already dead." The Punisher said before ramming the wedged end of the bar through the man's skull.

Looking back, he saw Tombstone struggling to stand.

"So it's true, it really does take a lot to keep you down." Castle said and walked away.

"That's right, you shit. I'm made of fucking stone, and there's nothing you got that can stop me."

Tombstone stood, though severely weakened, made it to his feet and took two steps forward when the lights came back on, making him squint and cover his eyes. For the split second he could see clearly before the pain kicked in, the assassin noticed that when Castle came back into the room he was carrying the biggest damn sledge hammer he'd ever seen.

----------

As Soap approached Castle's safehouse he saw the muscle car sitting down the street and wondered if he was too late.

That is, of course, until a tall albino figure in a tattered black suit came rocketing through the front door, literally ripping the door off its hinges.

"Holy shit!" Cried Soap. As he got a better look at the man he recognized the face almost immediately. It was the old and nearly legendary gangster Tombstone. Whatever had happened to him, he was fucked up, and his jaw seemed to be at a very painful looking angle on his face.

Moments later, Frank Castle emerged from the house carrying a black bag and an enormous sledge hammer. Spying Soap, he threw the hammer to the side and tossed the heavy looking bag on the albino mob enforcer's back. He then pulled a small black rectangle from his pocket.

Suddenly, the house behind him was razed to the ground in a fiery explosion. The blast nearly knocked Soap off his feet. He covered his head as fiery chunks of wood and plaster tumbled out of the sky.

"My God! Frank! What the hell?"

"This place isn't safe anymore. We've got to go." Castle said as he approached Soap, his hand on his side. The Punisher had a look of great pain on his face, and Soap could see where blood had soaked through his shirt.

"What happened to you?"

"Don't worry about it. You don't look so good yourself."

Soap realized how bruised up he must have looked. He sure felt it all over. "Eh," he shrugged, trying to put on a tough show for the iron-willed man before him. "I've taken harder knocks at strip joints."

Much to his surprise, this actually elicited the slightest of smiles from Castle.

"I bet you have." He replied.

"Castle, Jigsaw's got Budiansky. What are we gonna do?"

"You're going back to the FBI headquarters. Round up everybody that's left and let 'em know Budiansky's being kept at the Glutton Brothers slaughterhouse. Evacuate the city. We don't know what else Russo's got up his sleeve."

"What about you?"

"I've got some unfinished business with stitch-face."

"You'll never make it, Frank. And what about the FBI?"

"I'll be dead or gone before they get there. Meet me around back. There's a garage I've been using as an armory. I need to re-supply before I go."

"What about him?" Soap asked, looking down at Tombstone. The gangster was just starting to come around.

The Punisher grinned. "I've got plans for him."


	9. Inferno

THE PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

The head office was located on the top floor of the Glutton Brothers slaughterhouse. He stood before the enormous floor to ceiling window, looking out at the vast night and surveying the city of darkness before him.

_His_ city.

From the inside, the reflection upon the glass painted a canvas of insanity. In the foreground, the patchwork scars on the face of a sadistic madman. In the back, an enormous beast of a man with a grill of gold teeth leaned against the wall, scratching at his bald head with a foot long combat knife. Off to the side a sharply dressed man sat on an old wooden chair, tickling a six-string and crooning to the tune of fists upon fragile flesh.

"_And in time your time will be no more."_

In the center of the room, two of Jigsaw's men, Sykes and Miller, were taking turns tenderizing the face of Paul Budiansky. The agent was bound by his hands and hung from the ceiling like an obscene human punching bag.

"Hard to believe, isn't it Paul?" Jigsaw asked after taking a drag from his cigarette. "How far we've come? It seems like an eternity ago I was just a young punk slitting throats for the Costas. And you, you were probably a real go-getter, hmm? Itching for that first big case to sink your teeth into. Then you hear about…_him_. Some lunatic out there doin' what you and the rest of the puppets could never do. You probably think the Punisher made your career. But that's where you're wrong. _I _made your career. The Punisher was mine, and he should've died by my hand a long time ago."

Jigsaw turned to face Budiansky. The agent raised his head as high as his strength would allow and spat a wad of blood and snot upon the floor.

"You're insane." Budiansky weezed.

Jigsaw chuckled. "To tell you the truth, for a while there I actually had quite a phobia of windows like this. I admit. I fucked up, got careless. But look where it's brought us." Jigsaw held out his arms in rapturous form. "To the brink of a new age. My fall from grace was a hard one, but without it I may never have found the rage to chase my true destiny. Like a phoenix I have risen from the ashes, and now reborn I'm ready to share the fire." He turned back to the window.

"Look at it, that disgusting cesspool of a city, filled to the brim with corruption and filth. Still, I've never seen a more perfect place to call home, and at long last I have my fortress, my knights, and my kingdom."

"Wha…what about Castle?"

Jigsaw turned again, his eyes alight with murderous glee.

"Don't you see? He's the best part. None of it means anything without a mission. The fruits of my labor can never be realized until I've snuffed out the last ray of hope for this city. And no great story is ever complete without a final battle. The Punisher will meet his end. But until then I've got so much to do. Places to see, people to kill, and an empire to remake in my image. It begins tonight."

Jigsaw unclipped a radio from his belt and hissed into the receiver, "Do it."

"Yes sir!" A tinny voice replied.

"Watch, Budiansky. Hell is coming to us."

Just then a massive boom reverberated throughout the office as a monstrous mushroom cloud of fire lit up the night sky.

"What have you done?"

"The hospital on Romita Avenue won't be taking anymore patients for quite a while. Well, maybe in the morgue."

"No." Budiansky moaned before another massive wave shook the place and another explosion bloomed in the night.

Barracuda, nearly bored to the point of tears, now stepped forward with a smile on his face. Mayhem was his most favored dish, and now it was being served in spades. If anyone deserved his services, it was the twisted son of a bitch that had orchestrated the whole thing. Until then, Barracuda had wondered if Jigsaw was anything more than a two bit wacko. Now he saw that the man wasn't in it for the small time. He was going for the gold.

Harry Heck, on the other hand, sat in a state of surprise. As the city went up in flames, his jaw nearly hit the floor. He was just a hitman. He made his way by living off the weak. A ruined city offered no opportunity for a man like him. He had no idea his old friend was so far gone. Now, even looking at the back of Jigsaw's head sent fear through his bones.

The explosions followed one after another until Budiansky wondered how there could be a city left to save. "You…you bastard."

Jigsaw merely looked onward as his kingdom burned. The look on his face, if at all comprehensible through the damage, was a solemn one. "It was inevitable," he said at last. "In a world where a creature like me exists…destruction is the only logical answer. Someone has to keep us moving along towards oblivion."

Heck decided then and there it was time to cut loose. He returned his guitar to its case and stood up.

"Heading out, Harry?" Jigsaw asked, still not turning away from the window.

"Just gonna go find a liquor store."

Jigsaw nodded. "Yeah. This place is a little dry for a guy like you. Thanks for all the help, by the way. It was good seein' you again."

Harry swallowed. "I'll be back, Billy."

"I know, Harry. I know."

Harry knew that Russo didn't really expect him to return, and so he simply turned and left.

"Sir, what do you want us to do with him?" Sykes asked a few minutes later, referring to agent Budiansky.

"Take him downstairs. Hang him over the grinder. I'll be down in a minute to hear everything he knows about the Punisher."

"Sir." Sykes said.

That's when Barracuda stepped forward and swung the wicked blade through the air, slicing cleanly through the rope from which Budiansky hung. The agent fell to the floor with a thump and was soon heaved over Barracuda's shoulders, but as they turned to leave—

"Wait!" Jigsaw said. He had stepped so close to the window his breath was fogging up the glass. "I can't believe the son of a bitch is here!"

----------

A few miles up the stretch of heavily barricaded road leading to the slaughterhouse, the powerful black GTO Judge raced through a wall of flames with the Punisher behind the wheel.

_"Caaaassssstttlllleeeee! You baaaassttaarrddd!"_

Castle couldn't hear Tombstone's screams. He had used the same chains meant for himself to bind the old mobster across the grill of the car. The vehicle may not have been fully armored, but at least now it would make one hell of a battering ram.

Inside, Castle's knuckles were bone white as he gripped the wheel and floored the accelerator.

There was a thunderous crash as he broke through the first barricade. The outermost were made merely of wood which the GTO shredded through with ease. Further ahead, however, they had set up sturdy concrete partitions that would make the going quite a bit more difficult.

The Punisher didn't care, though. There was only one thing on his mind. Absolute destruction. Absolute punishment.

Tombstone's screams were abruptly cut off as the vehicle slammed through the partition. Chunks of concrete rained down on the car and Castle only smiled.

"That can't be good for the paint job."

He barreled through another barricade and felt the car being to shake severely. It wouldn't hold up to much more. Without much further to go, the Punisher started swerving the car to avoid any more deterrents. Now, however, Jigsaw's men were showing up on the sidelines spewing hot lead at the vehicle.

"Almost there, Russo."

----------

"Almost here." Jigsaw whispered to himself.

"Sir?" Sykes questioned.  
"Forget Budiansky. There's no time. The Punisher's here."

Fully aware that the final battle was nearly at hand, Jigsaw was shaking with wild anticipation as he looked down at the street. He frowned, however, when he saw Harry Heck lighting a cigarette in front of his Plymouth. The car was parked at the front entrance, right in the center of the Punisher's collision course.

"Aw, Harry. No. Miller! Get up here."

The man named Miller stepped up behind Jigsaw. "Sir?"

Russo turned to face him. "I need you to get down there and tell Harry to move his ass, okay?"

"Yes sir." Miller said, but when he turned he felt a pair of powerful hands grasp the back of his jacket.

"Not that way, son." Jigsaw said as he spun with all of might and tossed Miller, sending him crashing through the window and into the cold night air. They could hear him screaming all the way down.

Sykes, more devoted to his employer and mentor than anyone, had no problem walking up and standing beside Jigsaw to watch Miller slam against the roof of Heck's Roadrunner.

"Ah shit." Jigsaw cursed. "That was such a nice car, too."

"Fuck." Sykes gasped at the sight.

"Don't worry. I fell from higher than that. He'll survive. _Harry! Watch out!"_

----------

Approaching the slaughterhouse at breakneck speed, Castle pumped the breaks to no avail. Too much damage had been done to the car, and now there was nothing he could do but hold on.

For the slightest moment he prayed for death, aching to be returned to his wife and children, but then the skull within pushed those thoughts away. The Frank Castle that used to be was indeed dead, and the Frank Castle that existed within that vehicle had no memory of love or happiness. The Punisher did not desire death, nor life. It existed solely to meet out vengeance to the wicked.

Death was its business, and business was good.

The driver's side window had been shattered by a bullet meant for his head, and now he turned his face to the opening and yelled out, "Hey Lonnie! Might wanna get these breaks checked!"

On the street below Jigsaw, Harry Heck nearly shit his pants when all of a sudden the sky opened up and started raining lowlife thugs onto the roof of his _fucking car!_

He turned to survey the damage, then looked up to see Russo leaning out the window screaming at him.

"Fucking maniac." Harry whispered to himself, swallowing the urge to scream obscenities at his old friend.

"_Behind you!"_

It was too late when Harry turned, because the image he saw was most easily compared to that of the Grim Reaper rushing forth to claim his soul.

The GTO obliterated Heck's body as it made contact, splattering him all over the windshield and the unconscious Tombstone.

The Plymouth, however, was too much. When the Judge collided it threw its tail end into the air and flipped end over end, landing on the roof and grinding across the asphalt in a shower of sparks until it came to rest mere feet from the entrance to the slaughterhouse.

Inside the vehicle Castle did not breath, did not think, did not dream. He knew only blackness.

But inside the blackness, the Punisher waited.

And outside, maniacal laughter rolled across the rooftops and into the night.


	10. Path to Hell

PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

Soap had just finished gearing up in the station armory when the explosions ripped through the city. One was mere blocks away from the precinct. He and the other officers ran outside to see that the city was alight with fire.

The only consolation was that he'd put the order to evacuate on the radio after his arrival at Castle's safehouse, so at least there had been time for the remaining people to flee. That and the fact that they were readying an all out assault on Jigsaw's hideout. One way or another, it was going down tonight.

Unspeakable damage had been done, and it seemed the fate of the city would indeed fall to Jigsaw's mercy. Soap's only solace lie in the hope that Frank still had what it took to take the psychopath out. The men were nearly ready to go, and Soap swore if they pulled this off he'd sing Castle's praises until they had to throw them _both_ into the looney bin.

"C'mon guys!" Soap yelled. He was finally glad to feel the weight of some balls growing in his pants. "What the fuck're we waiting for, superheroes? We got a job to do."

The officers, a massive team made up of men from three different precincts, all offered a massive cheer and loaded up. They piled into four SWAT trucks and sped off, and each and every man, scared shitless as they were, were ready to take the fight to Jigsaw's doorstep.

"Just remember," Soap spoke through his com unit. "Don't shoot the guy with the skull on his chest."

"The Punisher's gonna be there?" One of the officers asked.

There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere in Soap's truck.

"His name's Frank Castle. He's a war hero. He's also the guy that's been helping us out and watching our asses. He's taken out more scum in this city than any ten of us combined. He may be a psycho and we'll probably have to go back to hunting him after this, but tonight he's on our side and it's going to take every one of us to take this puzzle-faced son of a bitch down. We've lost a lot of our own, including Commander Hardwick. Let's make this one count…for them."

Soaps words were met with a roar of encouragement from his fellow officers. He could only hope morale was that high when they saw what they were heading into.

_It's gonna be a fucking war zone. I don't know how you're doing, Frank, but we're on our way to back you up. Just hang on, Frank, hang on._

----------

Frank Castle was awakened with a hard—though not brutal—blow to the face. Stars exploded in his eyes as pain seared through his tender head. Stripped of his armor and weapons, he was on his knees with his hands taped behind his back. His vision blurred at the edges as he lifted his head and tried to get his bearings. He was in a small chamber with corrugated metal walls. It was dimly lit by a red bulb that cast a rusty glow upon the place. He turned his head and spied two men standing a few feet behind him, one to either side. They had their hands behind their backs and their heads held straight. Castle would almost guess ex-military, but it was hard to be sure. They could have just been showing respect to the man standing with his back to Castle.

"Russo," Frank growled.

"I just can't believe it. After all my waiting, all my _planning_…I just can't believe the great Punisher is in my grasp."

Jigsaw turned his scarred and stitched face to Castle. He was smoking one of his black cigarettes, designed to get his blood pumping.

At once Castle tried to rise and rush Russo, but his men were too close. They grabbed his arms and a handful of his hair and held him down, jerking his neck back. They forced him to look up at his mutilated adversary.

"Easy Frank!" Jigsaw hissed, pulling a gleaming and razor sharp combat knife from a sheath on his thigh. He lowered his face to Castle's and waved the blade between them. "How would you like it if I made your face look _just like mine?_"

"Fuck you." Rasped Frank.

"My hand was a little unrefined at first. I tended to take a little too much meat off. I had no pattern, no imagination. But after Judge Davidson and a few others, I really started to find my style. I'm becoming a real artist. And you, Frank, after you're dead you're going to be my motherfucking _masterpiece_."

"You really should thank me, Billy boy." Castle smirked at him. "I'd say what I did to you was an improvement."

A deep bubbling sound arose in Jigsaw's throat. It rose slowly like boiling water until it erupted in an outright roar in Castle's face. Jigsaw quickly pulled away and gained his composure, but he was amped and couldn't keep his excitement held back completely.

"Frank, Frank. Until earlier I wasn't sure you were taking this seriously. Then I realized you're taking it too seriously. I thought you needed to lighten up, but now I see you're starting to have fun. That's what I want Frank. I want to see you as the psychopathic dog you are, and to help you really let loose—I've put together something very special. But it's not just for you. It's for both of us. See, I've _dreamed_ of another showdown with you after all these years, Frank. You know as well as I do we're both dead men anyway, so I say we should go out doing what we both love."

That's when a burst of static erupted from behind Frank. It was coming from a receiver radio. There was a moment of silence, then:

"Sir. Looks like we've got company. Four SWAT trucks have pulled up outside. Doyle said there's got to be at least thirty cops. Our guys can't hold 'em off alone."

Jigsaw stayed calm, but his sick excitement bled through. "Fan-fucking-_tastic!_ Bring our boys inside. Tell 'em to barricade the front and get ready for the blow out party. Tell them anybody that wants to run for it should feel free to do so, but if they stick with me I'll give them this whole fucking _city_."

"Yes sir." The man said and walked out.

Frank thought he might have another opportunity until he heard another man walk in and grab his arm.

"Sykes, we've been waiting." Jigsaw said.

"Sorry, sir. I had to prep the juice. Are you sure about this?"

Jigsaw nodded and looked at Frank. "Do it."

Before Castle could question, Sykes plunged a syringe deep into his arm. He pressed the plunger, sending a milky colored liquid into the muscle.

"What was that?" Frank asked, but as soon as he'd uttered the words he felt the first surge of energy. It was something powerful. The wound in his side didn't hurt quite as bad and his headache was fading.

"That's just a party favor. I know you've been through a lot tonight, and I need you in top shape. It's just a cocktail of painkillers and anabolic steroids. It won't kill you, I'm gonna do that."

"Go to Hell." Castle growled, anger seething in his veins.

Jigsaw leaned down and opened a trapdoor in the floor in front of Castle. He then pulled a small razor out of his pocked and put it between Frank's teeth.

"You first!" He hissed before grabbing Frank's head and pushing him through the hole.

Castle fell ten feet into the hard steel floor below.

"See you soon, Frank." Jigsaw said and slammed closed the door.

The Punisher immediately began to ponder how he would make Russo suffer as he spat out the razor and set about freeing his hands.

----------

On the floor above, Jigsaw exited the small room and commanded all of men except for Sykes to weapon up and get to their posts as planned. The only thing that had changed was that instead of putting Castle through a little funhouse of pain on his own, they'd have their hands busy with the law also. It was a small matter. Every man new where the exits were, but more importantly every man had a score to settle, either with Castle or the NYPD.

"Time for the final match, Johnny. Clash of the titans." Jigsaw said. He opened a cabinet of his personal armament and set to getting himself ready. The first thing he did was strip off his bloody white suit jacket. What Castle had failed to notice was how much more beefed up Jigsaw had become since their last meeting. Thick, ropy muscles ran along his arms into his neck. He had never been a pushover. In fact, there was a time when he'd been known as one of the most vicious fighters around, but pound for pound he knew he couldn't keep up with Castle. So, he'd taken steps to remedy that. He'd been juicing for nearly a year, building power and strength, awaiting the day he'd once again face the Punisher.

The first thing he did was inject himself with a dose of the same power-boosting cocktail he'd given Castle. Almost instantly, he felt energized and light on his feet. The thought of Castle feeling the same way made him anxious for the fight to come. He then strapped on his vest and belt. He carried a Beretta M93R in a drop leg holster. He also strapped on a few knives before loading up his primary firearm. Things were going to get intense, so he chose an M-4 with a 14.5 inch barrel and a ninety round C-Mag dual drum magazine. Looking at the black rifle, he almost would have guessed his choice in guns had been influenced by the Punisher. After all, the man was nothing if not a weapons expert. On the front right side of his belt were nestled three baseball shaped fragmentation grenades.

And at last, the final piece. It was a handcannon he'd taken off of the Punisher after they'd pulled him out of the car. It was a Knight's Armament custom piece. A massive black revolver with a smooth silver cylinder, a sound suppressor (for whatever good it would do), an M6 laser illuminator device, a Hogue rubber grip, and a small red dot site on the top rail. The thing was a monster chambered in Smith & Wesson's .500 Magnum cartridge. It fit snugly into Jigsaw's own shoulder holster for his .44 Magnum.

"Sir," Sykes said. "This wasn't part of the plan. We were going to rough Castle up for you. You're walking into a sure death."

Jigsaw sighed. "Nothing's changed, John. Taking on Castle was my ultimate goal regardless of what else went down. It sounds like your losing faith in your old boss. You know there ain't nobody that can kill me."

Jigsaw jacked a round into the M-4.

The two men walked through a series of rooms and hallways before stepping into a cage elevator and beginning the ride down.

"Sir, before we split up, on the chance that something happens to me I'd like to say it's been an honor.

"John," said Jigsaw. "It seems like you were just a boy when the Punisher killed your dad. I had only met Howard a couple of times, but he seemed like a solid guy to me. Castle took away your family, and that's a hell of a lot more than he ever took away from me. I know you want vengeance. I know you want to look him in the eyes when he breathes his last breath. I'm doing this partly for you, because you're not ready. Castle would destroy you, and you know that. This might sound stupid, but I'm proud of you. You're so much stronger than you were when I took you in. I can only imagine how deadly you'll be a few years from now. The time for cutting your teeth is done. I knew it the minute you took the blade to that Judge's face. You're no longer one of my soldiers. After tonight, after Castle dies, we're partners. We're gonna erase that fat ass Fisk and then _we're_ going to rule this town."

The elevator stopped. Sounds of gunfire from the ground floor could already be heard.

Jigsaw slid open the gate and stepped out. He turned once more to John Saint. Sykes had simply been a cover name they'd used so that the Punisher would never know he was alive.

"Get your ass back upstairs and man the action. Keep an eye on Budiansky and you tell Barracuda I want his ass on the ground floor ventilating those bastards. I know he wants the Punisher, but Castle's _mine!_"

With that, he slammed the gate closed and turned, heading off into what might well have been the bowels of hell itself.


	11. Redemption

PUNISHER: WRATH OF JIGSAW

Two men stalked the corridor. The hunt had begun.

Murky red light cast sinister shadows in every corner, potentially concealing a lethal threat. But, in this world, what else but hatred and greed could send so many scores of men to their deaths.

"Where the hell is he?"

"How should I know?"

"This is where the boss dropped him. He should be here."

"Well he wasn't just gonna wait around for us was he, dumbass? C'mon, he didn't get far."

They went further down the dimly lit hallway. One of them carried a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and the other carried a double-barrel shotgun loaded with beanbag rounds. Now that the cops were involved they were also carrying handguns, but it was explicitly detailed to them that they were not to attempt to kill the Punisher. They were to beat him around a bit and lead him deeper into the maze of corridors.

"Shit, man! This don't make any goddamn sense. Why the hell did he just send us? We're talking about the fucking Punisher! I say we go back."

"Shut the fuck up and grow a pair. He's tied up, pussy. If you want to be afraid of one man right now, it ain't the Punisher. If you run back to the boss with your tail between your legs, he's gonna take that baseball bat to your face."

"I just—_aagh!_"

They had gotten to close to a turn in the hallway and weren't paying attention. A dark figure sprung from around the corner and grabbed the one with the baseball bat.

Castle raised his hand and shoved the razor blade into the thug's throat, running it across and severing the carotid artery. The man choked horribly as blood filled his mouth. A jet of arterial spray squirted through the air and hit the other goon in the face, obscuring his vision.

"Fuck!" He screamed and raised the shotgun. He fired a shot point blank, but the round slammed into his partner's stomach.

Seeing an opening, Frank snatched the baseball bat from the dying man's grip and let him fall to the ground. He rushed forward and brought the end of the bludgeon upward in a swinging arc, catching his opponent right between the legs. The man roared in pain as Castle pulled outwards, the sharp barbs separating cloth and skin. He dropped the shotgun and clutched at himself. That's when Castle reared back and sent the fat end rocketing into the thug's face with unyielding force. The blow snapped the spine, making the man's head bend to the side at a painful angle. Fortunately for him, he could no longer feel anything as he thumped to the ground.

Castle took the weapons and ammunition from the men's corpses. One of them he saw was wearing combat H suspenders. He took them and snapped them onto his tactical belt, then used the other man's leather belt to hang the shotgun from his shoulder.

Leaving the men to begin their journey to hell, the Punisher set off to finish the fight once and for all.

----------

On the top floor, Barracuda was ignoring Sykes's voice over the radio. He was instead readying a belt of ammo into his M-60. He'd had trouble deciding if he wanted to use his Barrett .50 caliber rifle, but in the end figured spraying five hundred smaller rounds just sounded like more fun.

He may have had some sick kind of respect for Jigsaw, but he certainly didn't fear him. Stupid as he may have been, he was also vengeful. He remembered his run in with the Punisher before he'd gone to jail. He remembered every time he raked his hand across the scars on his chest. He was going to kill Frank Castle even if he had to kill his boss in the process.

The sound of gunfire and explosions reverberated from the floors below. Barracuda guessed the cops were inside the building by now.

Agent Paul Budiansky laid bound in the corner where Barracuda had tossed him. He had come around to consciousness. Though he wasn't sure he could endure another beating from the massive criminal, he wasn't about to keep his mouth shut.

"Fucking coward." He said.

Barracuda grabbed a large black Desert Eagle from the desk and painted a little red dot on Budiansky's head with the laser sight.

"That ain't very nice, brotha." He said, thumbing back the hammer.

He pulled the trigger.

_Click!_

He grinned, chuckled, and set the pistol back on the table.

"Cuda! Come in, goddamn it!" Sykes roared into the radio.

The big man picked up the radio in a fist the size of a cast iron skillet and squeezed it until it crumbled to bits of plastic and circuit board in his grip.

"Not a team player, huh?" Chided Budiansky.

"Muthafucka, you lookin' at the team." He said as he shrugged on his vest and picked up the M-60 like it was a toy before leaving the room to do something he'd been thinking about for a long time.

----------

Frank Castle was moving carefully, trying to keep an eye on all sides. The place had been set up like a funhouse of horrors. He'd already taken out three more men that had been sent to give him trouble. Also, at certain intervals there were trap doors in the ceiling much like the one he'd been dumped through. The first one had opened up and someone had dropped his ballistic vest through. The second one, though, had produced another shotgun. Frank had dove to the side, but a beanbag projectile had still caught him in the shoulder. There would be a sizeable bruise, but it wasn't anything to take him out of the fight. They were playing with him.

Things were coming to a head, however, as the sounds of gunfire and screams were coming closer. Soap and the rest of the cops had gotten inside and were working their way up.

"Shit! There he is!" One of Jigsaw's lackies yelled as Frank walked by a doorway.

"Jigsaw said—"

"Fuck it! This place is going to hell—waste him!"

Frank moved out of the doorway as a volley of fire sent sparks flying all around. He pulled the two pistols he'd taken and opened fire.

From somewhere below them there was a thunderous crash that made the ground shake.

_Grenade_, the Punisher thought.

"_Caaaassstttleee!_" Frank heard a familiar voice calling.

One of the punks jumped through the doorway, trying to catch him off guard. Frank smashed his nose in with the butt of his left hand pistol and opened five holes in his chest with the right. Then, from the corner of his eye he saw a small dark object bounce out from around the corner and land mere feet ahead of him.

"Damn." Castle said and gripped the body of the thug, using him as a human shield.

The object exploded in a shower of fire and molten metal strips. Frank opened his mouth and bellowed to equalize the pressure in his head, but the force of the blow still knocked him off his feet.

He hit the ground hard. He coughed and tossed the smoking corpse to the side. Rising to his feet, he spied his attacker through the smoke. Tombstone, his suit burned and tattered, limped along with a belt of grenades across his chest.

"Time to pay up, Punisher!" The bloodied gangster rasped.

"You," Castle growled. The barbed wire baseball bat was lying on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and started toward his quarry. "I've had about enough of you!"

He tightened his grip on the bat, reared back, and swung with all of his might.

_One! Two! Three!_

Back and forth the heavy end smacked and splintered against Tombstone's skull, until finally it could take no more and snapped at the hilt. Castle could barely believe the old fool was still standing. Half of his face was caved in and his jaw was askew, but still he tried to grasp at Frank.

Ready to make sure he'd seen the last of the rock hard enforcer, Castle pulled one of the grenades from the belt and rammed it into Tombstone's mouth, lodging it tight between his broken.

There was a distinctive pop as his jaw unhinged.

"_Mmmghgh fffffccckkk!"_ Tombstone tried to yell.

Castle ripped the grenade belt from his chest, turned him, and kicked him through the doorway into the crowd of Jigsaw's men.

"Ah shit!" One of them yelled before the grenade exploded.

Tombstone's skull instantly disintegrated and Jigsaw's men flew through the air, their bodies scorched and burning, filled with smoking shrapnel.

Castle first strapped the grenade belt around his own chest and collected his pistols from the floor before turning and heading off down a new hallway. Not too far ahead another trap door opened in the ceiling and the barrel of another shotgun popped out and fired. Frank ran forward and slid on his knees, pulling one of the grenades from the belt. When he was under the trap door he tossed it inside just as the men up top slid it closed.

"What the—fuck!" He heard a muffled voice cry out before the hatch was blown out by a ball of fire.

"Frank!"

The Punisher turned, pulling both pistols from his belt.

"Don't shoot! It's me."

Castle never would have thought he'd actually be relieved to see Detective Martin Soap, and he couldn't have been more surprised to see the man in a flak jacket toting a SIG 552 carbine. The man looked war torn, like he'd been through even more hell than the last time they'd seen each other.

Castle eyed the detective. "New look?"

"Yeah, yeah. To tell you the truth, I'm a little surprised to see you're still alive."

"Relieved?" Castle asked.

"Disappointed," smirked Soap. "What now?"

Frank was serious again. "I'm going after Russo."

"I think he's coming for you. Word on the radio is he's knocking over my men left and right."

"I need a weapon."

"Take mine." Soap said, handing him the rifle. It had a nice Eotech red dot sight on top, a stubby sound suppressor on the end, and two clear magazines clipped together.

Soap handed him one more single spare mag and said. "I'm going to find Budiansky."

The Punisher nodded and walked passed Soap.

"Hey, Frank."

He looked back.

"Go get that son of a bitch."

----------

A trio of heavily armed officers busted through a doorway ahead of Jigsaw. They swept the corridor with the lights on their MP-5 submachine guns, but not in time to see the scarred man before he lifted the M-4.

"Welcome, gentlemen." He said and cut loose with a burst of full auto fire. He took his cigarette from his lips and let out a wild howl as the men toppled over.

"Now this is what I call a party!"

Two of his own men raced through the doorway, guns at the ready.

"Boss! The cops are swarmin' this place! They're already on the second floor."

"Bout fuckin' time. Spread out, boys." Jigsaw told them. "Time to show 'em what we're made of."

His men ran off down the hallway behind them. He looked down in time to spy one of the officers trying to lift his MP-5.

Jigsaw lowered his rifle and drew the massive .500 Magnum revolver. He aimed for the officer's head and fired. The recoil was massive, as if the gun had become a living thing in his hand as it jumped. The muzzle blast from the round was nearly three feet long. Through the blast he saw the cop's skull disintegrate into a rain of bone fragments and brains.

"Holy shit, Frank! Nice choice!" Jigsaw beamed, looking at the black cannon. "The calling card of a true badass."

He holstered the pistol and continued on. His own men were beginning to flood through various doorways now, often times stopping to shoot back at the cops. Jigsaw burned through them with his rifle. He took two rounds to his chest and one even grazed his left shoulder, but he was so buzzed on carnage he could hardly feel the pain. He just wanted to find Castle and face him. A battle between two ill fated soldiers in a true war zone, just the way it should be.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" He yelled and fired another blazing burst from his rifle.

----------

The enormous black killing machine known as Barracuda was roaring at the top of lungs as he filled every hallway with a hailstorm of bullets from his M-60 machine gun. He was cutting down the cops and Jigsaw's men alike, grinning all the while with a mouth full of gold teeth embedded with the words FUCK YOU. Rounds were smashing into him every other second. He was soaking up bullets like a sponge but he wasn't stopping. He wasn't even slowing down. Blood stained his combat vest, ran into his eyes, even squished between his toes inside rugged black boots as if he were walking along a beach littered with the bodies of his fallen enemies. Despite all of this he merely laughed as high velocity rounds impacted bodies, shattering bone and destroying vital organs.

That's when he felt it. Deep in his gut, he knew the Punisher was near. It was the energy between two warriors, one cold-blooded killer to another. He turned and fired off a stream of slugs into door to one of the processing rooms of the slaughterhouse. It was an old complex and many of the doors were still made of wood, now old and brittle. The door splintered and cracked.

Barracuda dislodged it with one hard kick and went through, hoping to cut Castle off at some junction.

----------

They were everywhere.

Jigsaw's men were pouring forth from every doorway into the path of Frank's fire. He cut them down by the handful as they scuttled about in the confusion. The cops were hot behind them, though, and Frank had to aim carefully and fire with caution. Thankfully, it seemed that the cops had been expecting to run into him and made no move against him. They had bigger things to worry about. A smoke grenade had been thrown into the hallway from the stairs and now the corridors were filling with a literal fog of war.

Moving stealthily with the kind of speed and power he hadn't felt in years, the Punisher mowed through enemy after enemy. The corrugated metal walls became dense, wet jungle as he prowled through the killing grounds. Jigsaw's minions became tiny men smeared in mud brandishing AK-47 assault rifles. The rage of the battle in Vietnam had never been more fully alive and realized inside Frank Castle than at that moment. Drops of blood fell like rain as he cut a bloody swath through hordes criminal scum.

"You remember me, muthafucka?" A voice called out, as familiar as the scars on Frank's body. It brought him back to reality, to the real fight at hand.

Barracuda, the monstrous mercenary Frank had faced years ago, was standing down the hall with his rifle of choice, the devastating M-60.

"I remember." Frank said, a smile playing at his lips.

"You ready for round two?"

"Sure. I've got time to beat your ass again." Said the Punisher. "I'm just sorry I don't have a car battery and some jumper cables."

"Fuck you!"

"Come on!"

The two men raised their weapons when an explosion ripped through the hallway and two doors burst open, spilling cops and criminals from the offices into the heat of the battle. The corridor was filled with combating bodies.

Frank raised his rifle and began pumping rounds into those not wearing NYPD patches while Barracuda let loose with a barrage of bullets from his last ammo belt. Rounds impacted, tore through cloth and flesh, expanded, shattered bone and sent blood through the hallway in a crimson river.

Barracuda, his ammunition spent, began running through the crowd towards his one true target while using his rifle like a giant baseball bat, slamming men out of his way left and right. The smoking hot barrel scorched the flesh of his palms, turning them into charred pads of meat.

Frank set his sights right in the center of Barracuda's forehead. Just one shot would do. One shot would be enough to at least bring him down if not kill him, but as he pulled the trigger Frank was met only with the dull dry _click_ of a firing pin falling on an empty chamber.

"Shit." He cursed and flipped the rifle in his hands.

Barracuda had ditched the M-60 halfway down the hall to gain as much speed as possible, and now as he approached his mark, that big bright skull, the Punisher wound back and let loose with all of his might, swinging the rifle around and catching Barracuda in the side of the head.

The sturdy plastic stock cracked and split right off the body of the rifle. As both parts when flying, Frank was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall with the force of a freight train.

The powerful blow had thankfully knocked Barracuda off course. If he had hit Frank dead center and forced him into the wall, it might very well have been the end.

Both of them tried to rise from the ground, but Barracuda had taken a hard hit to the head and was still reeling from the impact. Castle took the opportunity to grab his head and slam it as hard as he could into the metal wall, leaving a dent the size of a breakfast bowl.

They hauled themselves to their feet and began a no holds barred slugfest of epic proportions. Barracuda was a fighter and had a slight advantage over Frank in both size and weight. His attributes equaled that of the Russian, and his skills as a pugilist were even greater. But Frank had the meanest hook around, and his training told him exactly where to strike.

While Barracuda pummeled Frank's face with a flattened fist, Frank used his knuckles, built up through years of training, to hit every vulnerable point. He sent powerful blows rocketing into Barracuda's temples, into his throat, to the button of the chin.

A powerful left hook caused the eye socket to cave in. The glass eye exploded and blood covered shards ran down Barracuda's face.

Taking advantage of the mercenary's shock, Frank punched hard just beneath the nose.

Barracuda coughed and spat out every one of his gold teeth.

"Aaaaahh!" He screamed and clutched Castle's throat with both hands, digging into the center with his thumbs. They fell to the ground and Barracuda straddled him, his grip like vice becoming ever tighter.

"Pun—Punisher!" One of the cops choked out as he lay bleeding on the floor. He pulled a .45 caliber Springfield Operator from its holster and slid it across the ground before collapsing once again. The heavy handgun slid perfectly into Castle's palm.

He raised it and pressed it against Barracuda's chest.

Just then Jigsaw rounded the corner down the hall. He was checking to see if he had any more magazines for his Beretta M93R. He'd spent all of the ammo in his M4 and had discarded it. He'd gone through his bullets a lot faster than he'd thought. He glanced down the hallway and spied Barracuda's bald head and the two black clad legs splayed out beneath the massive man. He couldn't see Castle's face, nor the skull on his vest, but something inside just clicked.

He _knew_.

"No!" He roared. "He's mine!"

He threw down the empty Beretta and once again freed the massive black revolver and set its laser sight upon Barracuda's back.

Castle and Russo both began firing at once. Heavy .45s cut through him from the front while the massive .500 Magnums slammed into him from behind. Blood splattered Frank's face but still the behemoth held tight, choking the life out of him. His vision was beginning to blur at the edges when both he and Jigsaw clicked on empty.

Desperate, filled with adrenaline, and most definitely pissed off, Frank dropped the pistol and commenced slamming his fists into the big man's face. He tried to reach into fluid spurting eye-hole, but Barracuda kept drawing his face back.

Grabbing frantically at the enormous man's vest, Frank felt his hands close over a massive .50 caliber rifle round that was held in one of the elastic loops of the vest's shell carrier. He gripped it tight with both hands and brought the pointy end rocketing forward like an ice pick into the center of Barracuda's face.

Finally, Frank could breathe as his adversary reared back, clutching at the giant round that had been rammed into his skull right between the eyes. He screamed and cursed and spat.

_"FUCK! FUUUUUCKKK!"_

The Punisher grabbed the empty Springfield by the barrel and lifted it high. He swung it like a hammer, nailing the ass end of the .50 cal round dead center.

The primer ignited, causing the round to fire inside of Barracuda's head. A hole the size of a grapefruit opened up in the back of his skull. After the initial boom of the round going off, Castle thought he heard the wet splattering sound of brains and cerebral fluid raining onto the floor.

Jigsaw had been searching for another weapon on the ground that wasn't out of ammunition. He'd picked up an MP-5 that had suffered a stove pipe jam. After clearing the chamber, the .50 caliber round that exited Barracuda went whizzing right past his head. He could feel the disruption of the air as it passed, but he made no external sign that he even noticed. The round could very well have ended his life and his crusade against the Punisher, but he was merely happy that Castle had managed to defeat the monstrous Barracuda.

"Hmm," Russo sniffed, "maybe I shouldn't have invited him after all."

The Punisher, beaten and bloodied and almost the point of giving out, pushed the cow-sized body off of his legs and rose to one knee.

"Frank!" Jigsaw called.

Castle looked up to see the scarred face of his tormentor.

"Are we having fun or what?" Russo asked before raising the MP-5 and pulling the trigger. Four rounds sliced through the air and slammed into the skull on Castle's vest. None of them penetrated, but each one felt like he had been hit by small baseball bat. He slammed into the wall and slid to the ground.

Jigsaw looked disdainfully at the smoking barrel of the empty submachine gun.

"Aww." He said before tossing it away.

"You know, Frank." He said as he made his way toward the Punisher. "I actually would've been really sad if one of those had hit you in the head. I know what you're thinking. I should've just killed you right there, but c'mon. After all this planning, after all of this _waiting_, do you think I want to end it with a bullet to the brain?"

To Russo's surprise, Castle lunged to his feet and grabbed him by the collar. He pulled him around and slammed him against the wall. As much fire as there was inside of him, however, he was weakened. Russo, on the other hand, had never felt stronger.

"Is this it?" He laughed. "Is this the Punisher? Ha!"

He sent a knee into Frank's gut and tossed him around the corner into an empty hallway.

Castle once again got to his feet and took a fighting stance, but it was unstable at best. The adrenaline was leaving his system, making his limbs feel heavy.

"Why the hell are you still alive, Frank? Why the hell do you do it? To punish the wicked? Please. The weak exist to justify the strong. The truth is that there's no real difference between you and me. We're just following the natural order. While the rest of the world tears itself apart over petty bullshit, we're fighting our own war on our own terms. It's not that skull that makes you a hypocrite, Frank. It's the fact that you won't man up and admit that you're just a murdering scumbag. An animal just like me!"

Castle roared his defiance and flung himself as his opponent. He sent a glancing blow off Jigsaw's chin before the two men clinched and went tumbling through decrepit double doors into one of the largest rooms in the slaughterhouse. They fought along a giant steel platform that extended outward over a large slant sided pit that led down to two giant rotating grinders covered in hardened steel blades and spikes. On the lower floor, conveyor belts to either side were once used to shuttle parts of animal carcasses into the grinder to be pureed and broken down for other purposes.

Frank ran Russo up against the control panel and sent blow after blow into his stomach. Russo's back slammed into the console and an abrasive screaming whir filled the air as the rusted blades below spun to life.

"That's it, Frank!" Jigsaw yelled, slamming an elbow into the Punisher's chin. He reached down and slipped his knife from its sheath, and when Frank wound back to deal a devastating blow, Jigsaw crouched and drove the blade into the Punisher's leg.

"Aagh!" Castle yelled out and threw his punch.

Jigsaw deftly dodged and grabbed Frank's arm, using the Punisher's own strength to slam his head into the control panel.

Frank fell to the ground, reeling from the blow.

"This is better than I could have hoped for." Jigsaw said as he walked to a place on the platform where one of the handrails had broken through on one side.

"Still, I got to say I'm a little depressed. The thought of killing you has really kept me motivated all these years. If not for my hatred for the rest of the fucks on this planet, I just don't know what I'd do with myself. I almost wish this didn't have to be over yet." He grabbed the steel piping and jerked hard, wrenching it free from the rest of the railing. He looked at both sharpened ends and clinked it against the floor, knocking the rust loose.

He turned to find the Punisher heading straight for him.

"You never disappoint, Castle." Russo asked as he swung the railing, catching Castle in the side. The Punisher knelt over in pain and Jigsaw took the opportunity to hit him again in the shoulder and again in the back.

Frank collapsed to the floor and rolled away, ending up dangerously close to the edge of the platform, right over the screeching grinder.

"Ya know Frank, I've always wondered." Jigsaw said as he slowly walked toward Castle, dragging the pipe behind him. "Why didn't you kill me? All these years that's the one question I just have to have answered. You killed everybody else there that night. You even looked down at me after you put me through that window. For a while I thought you just had some major sense of cruelty. I mean, I _was_ the Beaut, after all. But then I thought, nah. It's the Punisher. That's not your thing. You exist to kill, but you didn't kill me. You could've finished me off, put me out of my misery, saved me the trouble of _thirteen hours_ of surgery to remove glass and bullets from every orifice I have. You could've _easily_ given me that single respect…that _simple…fucking…courtesy!_"

Russo stopped himself and took a breath.

"So I have to know, Frank. Why? Why did you make me what I am?"

Frank laughed. "I didn't make you what you are. I left you as you were. You were a mob enforcer, small game. I made an example out of you, but I should have ended you there. You mean nothing. I let you live because you're the only proof that there's something in this world worse than me."

"Oh, trust me, Frank. There's _nothing_ worse than you. And there never will be. The irony is that after you're dead, people will honor your memory and weep at the knowledge that there is no hope. And me…I'm gonna scar the world."

Jigsaw lifted the pipe high above his head. "I'm actually going to miss you."

Castle's muscles tensed. "I wish I could say the same."

As Russo brought down the pipe in a wooshing arc, Castle sprang at him, knocking the weapon to the side. He clenched the back of his foe's neck with his left hand as he raised his right and clamped it down hard over Jigsaw's face.

The Punisher's grip tightened as he pulled and wrenched at the flesh, popping stitches and snapping staples, rending flesh from cartilage and bone.

Russo flailed and shrieked in agony and terror.

"_AAAAAAGGGGHHH! AAAAAAGGHHHH!"_

Castle's palm soon became warm and slick with fresh blood as it poured forth from the gaping holes he had ripped open in Jigsaw's face. With one final jerking pull he ripped away the patchwork flesh of his enemy's visage, leaving raw and bloody muscle exposed to the air. The lips and nose and other parts of the facial structure remained, but the face was an open sore, the eyes acting as pulsating pustules of malice.

"_YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU FUCKING SICK TWISTED SON OF A BITCH!"_

The Punisher grabbed Jigsaw by the balls and throat and lifted him high into the air. Russo bellowed his rage as he was pitched over the side of the platform. He slammed into the slanted side wall and slid into the grinder, his feet and then his legs quickly shredded to the bone by the slicing blades.

He screamed and tried to grasp at something, anything, but the smooth walls gave him no purchase. The steel pipe was still in hand and as his genitals and waist were being torn to bits he shoved it down into the blades, stopping them up. A popping sound issued forth, followed by the terrible whine of grinding gears.

Jigsaw, alive for the moment, vomited a dark red splash of blood up into the air as he leaned his head back and cackled. It rained down on his face and chest.

_"Go on, Castle! I'll be back! You can' fucking kill me! You know I'll be back!"_

The Punisher reached down to his belt and pulled off his last grenade. He'd almost completely forgotten about it. He let the safety handle spin off into the air.

"Take your time." He said.

He tossed the grenade over the side and walked away.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Below, Jigsaw followed the grenade as it hit the side of the grinder, bounced off, and lodged between two of the blades just out of his reach.

_"FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!"_ He screamed, just before his world was enveloped in fire.

----------

The Punisher returned to the corridor where he'd killed Barracuda and retrieved his revolver before helping a handful of officers get their wounded to the nearest elevator.

"Thank you." One of them told him as he closed the gate. He nodded as they went down.

When he turned he saw the haggard and beaten forms of Soap and Budiansky coming down the corridor toward him. Soap had the agent's arm around his neck to help him as he limped along. The man's face was mashed and bloodied.

"We got 'em, Frank! Well, I mean, you got most of them, but we kicked some ass didn't we? Good to see ya still breathing." Soap said as they approached.

"You too." He looked to Budiansky. "Both of you."

"Where's Russo?" Budiansky growled, ashamed at his inability to arrest Castle when he was right within his grasp.

"Dead."

"You sure?" Soap asked.

Castle just looked at him.

The detective nodded. "Punisher, right. Sorry. It's gonna take a long time to put this city back together after what he did."

"You'll get it done. Have faith." Frank said turned to leave when Budianski called out.

"Castle!"

The Punisher turned. Budianski had taken his arm away from Soap and was standing on his own. He held out his hand and said. "Thanks for the help."

Frank reached out and shook the agent's hand.

"You've got a chance to start over now, keep your nose clean. You should take it, because I'm still head of the task force and if you keep this up I _will_ put you away."

The slightest smile played at Frank's lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less, now get to a hospital."

Budiansky turned away and let Soap help him down the hall.

"Ya know, Budiansky, stretched thin as we are, we're probably gonna need the Punisher now more than ever. I mean, the city's in bad shape right now. Every criminal and lowlife is going to be crawling out of the woodwork to take advantage. Castle's probably the only thing that'll keep some of them at bay."

Budiansky gritted his teeth. "I know that, you asshole."

"Ha, you hear that Frank? He knows—"

They looked back, but the Punisher was gone.

----------

On the top floor of the Fisk Industries building downtown, Wilson Fisk a.k.a the Kingpin of Crime stood before the floor to ceiling window of his office looking out at the destruction below. Several building, some of which he owned, lay in shambles.

Far behind Fisk, leaning against the frame of the office doorway, a lone figure stood bathed in shadow. A single red pinpoint of light shone from the right side of his face. A large stainless steel throwing spike glistened as it spun deftly between nimble fingers. A leather and Kevlar bodysuit outfitted with an armament of razor sharp projectiles adorned an athletic and muscular frame. Twin semi-automatic pistols rested in a dual shoulder rig upon strong, wide shoulders.

"Such a transgression cannot go unchecked." Fisk spoke, looking out at his ruined city of shadows and rubble. Fires still raged, but emergency rescue services were already en route from outside the city.

"Just tell me where to aim." The dark figure spoke, his voice full of all the glee of a sadistic sociopath.

"The criminal element in this city needs to be reminded of who they serve. They are the puppets, I am the puppeteer. You will help me make this known."

"But first…"

"Ah, yes." Said the Kingpin, knowing full well who his employee was referring to. "First we must eliminate the greatest threat to my reign. He's been a thorn in my side for far too long."

"After what he did to me, I'm going to make him suffer."

"Do you honestly think you have what it takes to kill him?" Fisk goaded the assassin.

The man issued the slightest laugh. "I just want to repay the favor, and have a little fun while I'm at it."

Fish turned from the window. "How are you with your new eye, anyway? Still up to par?"

The bald man emerged from the shadows and grinned.

"Never been better."

He no longer missed the eye that the Punisher had taken from him nearly a year ago. Now he felt proud to show off the glowing symbol of his namesake in the pupil of his new one.

It was a bullseye.

----------

Hours later, John Saint stood before the bathroom mirror in his apartment sewing shut a bullet wound in his shoulder. Mounds of blood stained gauze lay bundled in the sink. When he was through he administered alcohol to the other various lacerations he'd obtained during the course of his escape. Squinting in pain, he reached for the bottle of whiskey he had sat on the toilet and took a swig.

Russo was dead.

The long, dark night was finally coming to an end.

Saint couldn't let it end like this. He _would not_ accept defeat.

"Fucking Punisher. _Fucking Castle!_"

Saint reared back and slammed his face into the mirror. A spiderweb of cracks spread across its surface as a few shards fell into the sink.

_Again!_ The Punisher had taken everything again!

He pulled back and drained the rest of the whiskey.

"You'll pay. This whole fucking world is gonna pay." Saint said.

He caught the fractured reflection of his bloody face in the mirror. Life was like an endless nightmare from which he could not awaken. If he could not escape, he would _become_ that nightmare, and he would deliver his pain to everyone in his path.

He lowered one shaking hand and unsheathed the knife at his waist that he had used to pry the bullet from his shoulder.

"You did everything for me, Billy. I'll get him for you. I'll kill all of them."

Russo was gone, but what he had started was so much bigger than what he had been. Jigsaw would live on, one way or another.

John Saint raised the knife to his face and began his grisly work—and as he screamed into the fading night, the sun outside had still not begun to rise.

THE END


End file.
